


Shakedown

by the_mystery_twins (Jheselbraum)



Series: The Wind in Visions [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Detective Noir, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Murder, Murder of a Minor Character, Prostitution, Serial Killers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jheselbraum/pseuds/the_mystery_twins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Pines, in dire straits and forced to prostitution on the Las Vegas strip, witnesses a gruesome murder. Unable to bring the killer to justice on his own, he seeks the help of Detective Indigo Vasquez.</p><p>A prequel to The Wind in Visions. Rating subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laura Smith

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So as you may have noticed, this fic is a prequel to our other fic, The Wind in Visions. You do not have to read The Wind in Visions to understand this fic, though we'd love it if you did. You will, however, need to read this fic to understand The Wind in Visions. This fic is also contains a few sex scenes by nature, and The Wind in Visions does not. So, if that makes anyone uncomfortable, but they still want to finish The Wind in Visions, let either of us know at the-stan-twin.tumblr.com or the-ford-twin.tumblr.com (we both have anonymous messaging turned on, so you don't even have to have an account!) letting us know and we'll give you a brief summary of what happens! We will do this for any fic, or for any specific chapter in a fic.  
> Also, in this chapter there is some slight internalized homophobia.  
> Merry Christmas, and enjoy the fic!

Las Vegas, Nevada. The Big City, said with capital letters, smack dab in the middle of the unforgiving Mojave Desert. A lively city, loud at all hours in an attempt to stifle the silence of the desert around us. The year was 1979, I’d officially been on the Las Vegas Police Force for two years. My name? Indigo Vasquez. _Detective_ Indigo Vasquez. Despite my recent promotion, my superiors still called me “The Rookie from Red Rock”, but that was about to change.

He walked into my office like a summer’s breeze off the Mojave: carrying dust onto the freshly polished hardwood floor and looking like hell itself. He was a big man, broad shoulders, about six feet tall and had a sagging pot belly, despite the fact that he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a few days. His greasy brown hair fell down around his shoulders, tangled and caked in dust and blood. Briefly, I felt my attention wander to the bruises on his wrists, the way his right eye twitched in pain when he spoke, mentally assessing the damage that he’d been dealt. But the most stunning thing about him by far was the bright red dress he wore, the hem stopping short about five glorious inches above his stocking covered knees. I knew before he’d spoken a word out of his mouth that he was a prostitute, but _damn_ , did he look good in that dress, even if it was a little torn up from whatever scuffle he’d been in.

“Let me guess, your pimp roughed you up, and you want one of us to come deal with it?” I asked, reaching into my breast pocket and pulling out a carton of Marlboros, lighting the cigarette with a match.

“I’d like to report a murder, actually.” He said, his voice gruff. It was clear that he’d been smoking far longer than I have, though there was no guarantee he stuck with just cigarettes. He folded his arms, standing up a little straighter, his face fighting down the pain from his injuries in an attempt to intimidate me, despite the fact that he’d be a good two inches shorter than me without his heels.

“Listen, I know the… _work_ you do has its dangers, but I’m gonna give it to you straight: we can’t keep up with every hooker and pimp that gets gunned down by associating with the wrong people.” I took a long drag from my cigarette. “I don't think there's anything I can do. Do you know who the victim is? Any lead on someone who might have wanted them gone? Is there even a body left? Cause right now it's looking like every other case like it: unsolvable.”

The man in front of me clenched his fists in anger. “Her name was Laura Smith, yes I’ve got a lead on someone who might want her gone, and maybe if your department got their asses in gear and did their jobs every case wouldn’t be _unsolvable_. I come in here looking like hell, I just witnessed a murder and I could’ve been dead on the streets too, and they tell me ‘go see Detective Vasquez’ so I come up here, and _you_ tell me you can’t do anything?!”

“Do you know how long the list of suspects is on a case like this?” I said, taking a final drag from my cigarette and snubbing it. “In one night, someone like you could meet with thirty different johns, and any one of them could be the next Ted Bundy. The best we can do is file a report and we’ll look into it, if it becomes more serious we’ll catch the guy. Now you can either file the report or you can get out of my office before I arrest you for prostitution.”

“You can’t arrest me for _shit_. I want to file the damn report.” The man huffed, a hand on his hip. “What do I gotta do? Should I sit down?”

I cleared my throat, trying to avoid staring at his legs. “Sure, pull up a chair.” I said. He caught me staring, giving me a glare as he sat down, making a show of crossing his legs. “Start with your name.”

“Do you need my real name? I can’t be anonymous?”

“Did you personally witness the crime in question?” I asked, clicking my pen.

“Y-Yeah.” He looked shaken, to say the least, and after witnessing the murder of someone who was likely a coworker I couldn’t blame him.

“Well then, there’s your answer.” I said. “Your name will be kept on a need to know basis, but I need to know it.”

The man took a deep breath, hesitating before speaking. “S-Stanley Pines.”

I fought back a groan. I recognized the name. Stanley Pines was an international conman, banned in twenty-five states and recently escaped from a prison in Columbia after botching what could have been the biggest heist South America had ever seen. I’d already known Stanley Pines was in Nevada, the boys downstairs wouldn’t stop complaining about him. His face has been plastered on every casino on the strip, and even though the makeup he wore did a pretty good job at disguising it, this was definitely the same guy. “Alright, Mr. Pines. You’re under arrest for prostitution, fraud, burglary, counterfeiting, illegally re-entering the country--”

“Now hang on!” Stanley Pines stood up, placing his hands up in surrender, “You _have_ to solve this case, detective. Nobody else can do this, nobody else _will_.  I’m the only one who knows about this, you can’t solve this case without me.”

“You’ll have all the time in the world to help me solve this case behind bars where you belong. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law, you have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, and hell, it looks like you can barely afford food, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?” I stepped out from behind my desk and reached for my handcuffs, and before I could cuff him, Stanley Pines grabbed my hand, catching me off guard.

“Please… Detective, I have to make sure this gets done, that she gets her justice. I’ll… I’ll do _anything_. I’ll give you my car, the clothes off of my back, all that I have. I’ll even give you a… a _discount_.” He said, the firm grip he had on my hand softening to a gentle squeeze. With a flick of his head he flipped a few stray hairs out of his face and took a slow step towards me.

His other hand slowly relaxed on my hip, dangerously close to my gun, and I backed away. “What makes you think I’m into that sort of thing?”

“I’ve been all around the world, and this isn’t my first rodeo. You think I don’t know how to pick ‘em?” He said. “The way you dress, your hair, the way you keep staring at my legs… You might as well be carryin’ a neon sign.”

I stopped, my head swimming, this couldn’t be real. He was right, of course, but… I’d never felt comfortable-- no, never had the _opportunity_ to try something like this before. When would I get another chance? How could I say no? Silently, I pried myself off of Stanley Pines, walking over to the door and locking it shut. I drew the blinds, keeping my back to Stanley and making sure to hide my gun. “Well then, you might want to get started.” I said, slowly unbuttoning my suit jacket and taking off my tie.

Stanley tied his hair back with a ribbon he’d previously had around his wrist, something he did as if he has done it a million times before, and leaned against my desk. “How do you like it?”

“Like what?” I asked, perplexed. I hadn’t had much experience in this field, much less with another man. “Are you taking my coffee order or are you going to fuck me?” I added, in an attempt to seem like I knew what I was doing.

Stanley scoffed and pointed to my office chair. “Sit down, I know how to deal with virgins.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Are we going to get this show on the road or do you want to sleep behind bars tonight?” I crossed my arms and went to sit at my desk, curious to where Stanley was taking this.

Stanley muttered something I didn't quite catch under his breath and sank to his knees in front of me. He worked in a flash, my pants were down before I could blink, and Stanley _definitely_ knew how to deal with virgins. I hadn’t experienced anything so raunchy in my life, hiring a prostitute (much less a male one) right at my desk, sending waves of adrenaline and other feelings too good and short lived to name, escalating more and more until the climax.  It was over before I knew it, Stanley quickly stood back up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if it were nothing.

“So, how much do I owe you?” I asked, reaching into my desk drawer for my wallet, feeling my cheeks burn red.

“Fifty dollars.” He said, letting his hair down and readjusting his dress. “ _And_ , Laura Smith’s murderer behind bars. Otherwise I go upstairs and tell the Chief of Police that I just sucked Detective Indigo Vasquez’s dick, he _paid_ me, and he liked it.”

“What? No, you’re under arrest--”

“You can’t have your dick un-sucked. What’s done is done, let’s go find a murderer, pretty boy.” Stanley Pines didn’t look too happy about what had just happened, and though I can’t say that I regretted the sex we’d had, something needled in the corner of my brain. The fact that I’d had to be blackmailed to consider taking this case seriously didn’t sit right with me, though at the time I wouldn’t admit it.

“Alright. Hand me my suit jacket and tell me what you saw, Stanley Pines.” I said, shooting him a glare.

Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose and took a seat again, in front of my desk, tossing me my suit jacket. “Alright… so her name was Laura Smith. Went by ‘Angel’ on the streets.   I met her about a month ago. She, uh,” He let out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s funny, when we first met, she thought I was a john… Long time ago she’d been kidnapped by a sex trafficking ring, that was how she got tangled up in this business. Uh… w-well, I kinda helped her get revenge, you know? We ran into the guy and I told her she should give him what he deserves, I wouldn’t tell a soul--” I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes, though he’d probably kill me if I mentioned it. “Few days after that, we’re walkin’ back to my car. We were ambushed from behind, I didn’t-- I didn’t see who did it, but the next thing I know we’re both blindfolded and tied up in the back of a van. We tried kickin’ and screamin, but he knocked us both out. Eventually I woke up and I-- I tried to escape, we _did_ escape, we were in the middle of the desert, but he-- Oh god, he s-shot Laura.” Stanley was gripping the edge of the chair so hard I thought he might break it. I leaned forwards in my seat, ready to put a hand on Stanley’s shoulder as I’d done with hundreds of witnesses before him, and would do with thousands more after, but Stanley continued. “She’s still in the desert, I had to outrun the van, I couldn’t carry her out of there, I _tried_ …”

I handed him a cigarette when he told me that.

Stanley took the cigarette with shaky hands, pulling out his own lighter from one of his garters, struggling to get it to light. I sighed, and struck a match. “Sorry I don’t have any whiskey.” I said. “Can you give me Laura’s physical description?”

“Y-yeah. Skinny thing, couldn’t be over five foot one. Hispanic, dark skin, had this super long black hair. She was just a kid, only eighteen. She was beautiful.” Stanley took a long drag from the cigarette, and the smoke clouded around his face like an old friend.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I wanted to tell him he should have opened with the fact that this case involved a child sex trafficking ring, that it involved a kidnapping, but I didn’t. My pride was telling me two things at once, mouth off and shut up. In that moment, I couldn’t believe how far I’d fallen as an officer of the law. I couldn’t believe that I’d almost dismissed a case so serious. “Did you see the plates on the van? Do you remember the make and model?” I asked, writing down Laura’s description on the report.

“It w-was some Chevy, an ugly green color. Sounded old, if I had to guess, maybe from the early sixties?” He said, puffing out smoke all the while, trying to milk the cigarette for all it was worth. “I didn’t see the plates, he probably took them off to do the job, put ‘em back on later.”

“And have you had your own injuries treated yet? Or can you at least name them for me? I need them for the report.” I said, glaring at the report in front of me.

“Well, I got hit in the back of the head with something blunt, other than that a couple of scrapes and bruises… That bullet barely missed me.” Stanley said.

“And have you gotten them treated?” I asked, knowing full well that Stanley Pines likely hadn’t been to a decent doctor in months, at least.

“Do I fucking look like I can afford to go to some quack doctor? I'll be fine.” Stanley said with a wave of his hand

“You could have a concussion, Stanley Pines, that could be very serious. Right now, you’re my only witness, my only lead, and my only suspect. Get to a hospital or I will be forced to _make_ you go.” I said. “Unless you want any chance I have of solving this case to die with you.”

“I'm telling you, I'll be fine! I've been beaten up plenty worse by other Johns.” Stanley said.

“I am legally not allowed to take the risk. You are officially under police protection.” I said. “We're getting you to a damn hospital. You said you wanted to find Laura’s killer, well, you can't do that dead, and _I_ can't do that if my only lead is dead. I'll think of something to do about the bill. Maybe you could just… owe me one, if you know what I mean.”

Unexpectedly, Stanley Pines smirked and crossed his arms. “Owe you one, huh? Brave words coming from the guy who's being blackmailed from the last time we did the deed. Fine. But I don't want stay in some hospital for more than a night, I've got a living to make.”

“Fine. Do what you like, I don't give a damn.” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Oh, and one more thing. You're wearing _pants_ to the hospital.” I shot a glare at Stanley Pines. To think he'd had the nerve to say _I_ was wearing a neon sign when he was dressed like _that._

Stanley rose from his seat, “Alright, let’s get it done and over with then.”

“Do you even _own_ pants?” I asked, resisting the urge to light another cigarette.

“Hot pants.” Stanley said, laying the sarcasm on a little heavy. “Yeah, they're in my car, it's probably parked on 9th Street.”

“Is that your… current place of residence?”

“My current place of residence isn’t something you need to know.” Stanley Pines huffed. “How do I know there won’t be a squad car waitin’ for me as soon as I step outta this place? How do I know there won’t be a no knock raid up my ass one night after all this is over?”

“You’re under police protection, I need to know. All I can give you is my word.” I said, extending my hand to shake, trying to convey sincerity. If I wanted to solve this case, if I wanted to keep my job, I was going to have to get this conman to trust me.  Stanley was hesitant, the doubt was evident in his eyes, but he shook my hand firmly, making my heart jump like a startled rabbit.

“Two things: one, fuck you. Two, I’ve been living out of the car parked near 9th Street for a long time now. I know what I’m doing.” Stan said.

“Alright then, here’s how we’re going to do this: it stays as off the books as possible. Two blocks down, there’s a parking garage. On the third level there’ll be a black Chevrolet Sedan, license plate 29SB9L. Wait near it, but not next to it. I’ll follow you in five minutes. We’re not going to be seen together if I can help it.” I said. “And I _swear_ , I’ll hunt you down and arrest you myself if you so much as _think_ about taking off with my car.”

“Oh, and I was planning on hotwiring a cop’s car to finish off my night. I got it, alright?” Stanley said, unlocking my door and storming out of my office.

I secured my gun in its holster, and finally lit the second cigarette I’d been craving since Stanley Pines walked in the room.

Even I had to admit, though, it took guts to report a murder so soon after it happened, when you knew that you’d likely get fingered as the culprit. Stanley Pines was a dirty rotten criminal, but it seemed to me like there was enough nobility in him left to do whatever it took to get that girl justice.

Strange, how a crook could be nobler than a detective sometimes.

I took my time leaving my office, making notes, smoking my third cigarette, wishing I had a bottle of scotch. By the time I left, I was more than thankful nobody stopped to ask me about the hooker who had been in my office for a good half an hour.  I popped the collar on my coat and kept the brim of my hat low on my way to my car in the parking garage, and I was relieved to find Stanley leaning against a post next to my car.

“Good to know you're at least somewhat of a man of your word.” I said, unlocking my car and motioning Stanley to get inside.

Stanley climbed in my car, reclined his seat, and set his feet up on the dash. “Nice car.” He said. “Got that funky leather smell, haven't smelled that in a _long_ time.” He said, fondness in his voice.

“Yeah, well I'd like to _keep_ it a nice car, and you're lucky you're not in the back seat. So feet _off_ the dashboard.” I said.

“Alright.” Stanley removed his feet from my dash and crossed his arms. “I can respect another man’s car.”

“You said ninth, right?” I asked, pulling out of the parking garage and onto the street.

“Yeah, it’s a red El Diablo, I think I parked near the alley, there’s probably a few people hooking there, so try not to act like too much of a cop.” Stan said. “I'm not going to lose any business cause of _you_ and your stupid badge, so just wait in the car for me to change. Act like you're a john. Which, to be fair, you are.”

I made a mental note of the spot where Stan’s car was, in order to lower the city’s high prostitution crime rate later. If I could scare ‘em off, I wouldn’t have to arrest them, but scaring criminals wasn’t as easy as those second rate comic book detectives made it look.

I parked behind Stanley’s car, I could barely make out a duffle bag and piles of clothes from the back window in the darkness. This man was clearly living out of his car, and for a while now. “Alright, just make it quick.” I huffed, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.

Stanley got out of my car, shutting the door carefully, and pulled his car key out from inside the padded bra he was wearing. He checked his surroundings quickly before opening the door and crawling in the back seat. I could make out Stan’s body as he changed, I never thought I would enjoy watching a man with a mullet taking off a bra so _damn_ much.

Stan turned, looking over his shoulder, and caught my stare, meeting my eyes with a sneer. I immediately turned my glance, feeling my face grow hot. I could feel Stanley cursing at me from his car. Christ, why did I have to be a peeping tom about this? Why couldn’t I be suave and, frankly, _polite_ in front of Stanley Pines, like I was with other women? Stanley Pines was no woman, hell, he wasn’t even a law abiding citizen. Still, a man has a right to privacy, and I invaded that tonight.

“Alright, asshole. That’ll cost you an extra twenty.” Stan said, climbing back into my car. He was wearing a greasy white button up, and a pair of old jeans that looked like they could fall apart any minute.

I reached for my wallet, not meeting Stanley’s glare. I handed him a twenty dollar bill from my wallet and sighed. “I’m going to have to go to the bank tomorrow.” I muttered.

“For the fifty you still owe me from the blowjob? Yeah. You will.” Stan huffed, snatching the bill from my hand. “...Just drive me to the fucking hospital, will ya?”

“I’m on it, yeesh.” I started my car up as quickly as possible and rushed to the hospital, eager to get out of the awkward air that filled the car like cigarette smoke. The drive to the hospital wasn’t a long one, maybe about ten minutes, and it didn’t take long to get Stanley Pines admitted to a room.

It took too long to hear from a doctor what was happening. Stanley Pines didn't have a concussion, not to their knowledge at least, but they'd be keeping him overnight on an IV, for observation. I stationed myself outside the hospital room, ready in case our perpetrator decided to try anything, mentally collecting a list of suspects.

Tomorrow morning, I'd have to get Stanley Pines to take me to the ringleader he and the victim had roughed up. With any luck, this murder was local, but I couldn't rule out the possibility that someone from Stanley's past decided they wanted revenge for _something,_ someone who was willing to kill to get it.

I took a long drag from my cigarette. Something told me that getting to know more about Stanley Pines’ past wouldn’t be an easy job.

And without so much as an autopsy on Laura Smith’s body, cracking this case was looking to be even harder.


	2. Rigor Mortis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the investigation begins. But as tensions rise, will Indigo be able to put up with Stan for much longer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as the previous chapter apply for all chapters until further notice.

The sun rose slowly out over the Mojave, the blackness of the night sky gave way to the pinks and blues of tomorrow. About twelve officers joined Stanley Pines and I for the initial search. Stanley kept off to one side, staying in the passenger seat of my car for as long as he could, likely to avoid telling any officers his true identity, while sticking close to the only one here he had anything to blackmail with.

He lead us out towards Gass Peak, out in the desert where the unprepared didn’t make it back alive.  He must have walked miles to get back into town, even farther to get to the precinct. No wonder he was pissed off, after going through all that just to get turned away. I’d never stop kicking myself in the teeth for trying to turn Stanley away, for trying to turn this case away.

“Alright, we’re looking for a Hispanic female, five foot one, dark skin, black hair, lightweight.” I told my fellow officers. “Time of death was late last night, unless coyotes got to her first, she should still be intact.” I added, knowing full well that out here, we might already be dealing with nothing but bones. Decomposition was the last thing I was worried about, there were things out in the Mojave big enough to consider a human corpse a dinner, and if that happened we’d lose any lead we might gain from an autopsy.

After an hour and a half of searching, Stanley Pines grew weary, already anxious from being surrounded by police. I had to go interrogate what few suspects we had, and I wasn’t going to be able to find them without Stanley’s help anyways, so we left the officers to their work and headed into town.

“Is there anyone who’d want you dead? Any enemies you’ve made from your… criminal activities?” I asked, fighting against traffic on the freeway.

“Just about every casino owner in Vegas.” Stan scoffed, leaning against the car window. “And probably a couple’a guys I met in Columbia. But it wasn’t them, they didn’t have anything to do with Laura.”

“Yes, but you were close, were you not? They could have kidnapped the both of you to exact revenge.  They could have kidnapped her just because she witnessed it.” I said. “So are you just exaggerating about every casino owner in Vegas? Or did you really manage to piss off that many people?”

“I’m not as good at counting cards as I thought I was. If I was any good, they wouldn’t catch me.” Stanley huffed. “...Plus, my reputation got the best’a me in some places. Word travels fast, you know?”

“Is that why you started hooking?”

“No, I needed the dental insurance. _Yes_ that’s why I started hooking.” Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “M’not getting into drug dealing again, not after Columbia.”

“Drug dealing? Risky thing to be admitting to a cop.” I said.

“You got a problem? Why don’t I call the chief of police and tell him all about our little _escapade_ last night, then.” He threatened.

_That tears it._ “...When this is over, you’re going to go to jail.” I said. “I’m going to beat you at your own game, and then you’re going to be living behind bars for a _very_ long time.”

“I doubt you'll manage to pull that off.” Stanley said. “Believe me, if there's one truth in this world, it's that a man like you will do _anything_ to keep his career intact.”

_A man like me…? What the hell is that supposed to mean?_  

“Is there anyone in particular that you pissed off enough to want you dead?” I asked.

“Look, I didn't drag Laura into this. Whoever did this was after _both_ of us from the start.” Stanley said, looking away, anger radiating off of him. “...Mason Prestwich. Runs the Sunset Lion Casino. Deals a lot more than cards. _If_ it’s a casino owner, it’d probably be him.” He spoke softly, though you’d never be able to tell with his gruff voice.  “He’s the kinda guy who doesn’t fuck around.”

“Then we start there. After that, you take me to that ringleader you and Laura roughed up.” I said.

“Look, as soon as I step into that casino, there’s gonna be a gun to my head. Maybe you should check it out by yourself.” Stanley said, crossing his arms. “We won't get very far with all of the suspects tryin’ to kill me.”

“Well I can't exactly leave you unguarded. You're a wanted criminal, my most valuable witness, _and_ you've got someone after you regardless of whether Prestwich is our killer or not. I'm not letting you out of my _sight_ until this blows over.” I said. “And, _no_ , I can't just get another cop to do it. We're going off the books here.”

Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a long sigh. He evidently didn’t rest well in the hospital the previous night, his eyes were heavy with dark circles, the blistering sunlight washed him out. Being without makeup and in broad daylight, Stanley was not in his element. He looked just a little more world weary during the day.

“Are you gonna make it? Do you need coffee or something?” I offered, hoping caffeine would perk Stanley back up, get him as motivated as he was the previous evening.

“Got anything stronger?” Stanley Pines asked.

“You get _coffee_ and that’s all. It’s only eleven in the morning, Stanley Pines.” I huffed, taking my pack of Marlboros from my pocket “...But if you’d like a cigarette--”

“Please, just call me Stan.” He said, snatching the cigarettes from me. “Got a light?” He asked.

“There’s a book of matches in the glove box. Do _not_ remove anything but the matches, Stanl-- Stan.” I said, rolling my eyes.

Stan opened the glove box, taking a quick peek at its contents before taking the book of matches. “Thanks.”

“...Don’t mention it.”

The Sunset Lion Casino was located in a shady part of town. Though, to be fair, most parts of Vegas are shady. It was a small casino, close to the Strip but not in an area any tourists ever went. The casino business? Likely a front to a drug slinging business, based off of what Stan had told me.

I took a deep breath, double-checking my pistol to make sure it was fully loaded, parking halfway up the street from where the casino was. “Stanley, here’s the deal. Try not to cause trouble and stay behind me. These guys might be crazy enough to kill a guy, but they sure as hell won’t be kill-a-cop crazy. And if they are, well, we won’t have to worry about them for long. Things get hairy? Take cover. And… _if_ things get real bad in there?” I said, taking a deep breath and clicking the chamber of my gun closed. “If by some chance I’m shot, you have my permission to take my car and get out of there. Just this once. And _only_ if I’m shot.”

Stan took a deep breath and nodded, zipping his jacket up before opening his door. “Yeah, I got it. I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“No, but you _are_ my only lead.” I said as we walked into the casino.

“I’m not gonna get myself killed, okay?” Stanley said, folding his arms.

The casino was small, the carpets were all done in red and gold in an attempt to make the place look nicer than it really was. My nose scrunched when the smell of cheap beer and cheaper cigarette smoke accosted my nostrils, while Stan took a big whiff like it was fresh perfume.

“Well if it isn’t ol’ 8-Ball.” A short, stocky man, in the gaudiest suit I’ve ever laid eyes on spoke up from across the room, his sleazy eyes trained on Stan. I felt my hand reach for my gun before I could register it, but if the man across the room noticed, he didn’t do anything about it.

Stan stood straight, his shaking hands balled into fists.  “Prestwich, how nice to see you again.”

“You’ve got my money, 8-Ball?” Mason Prestwich snapped his fingers, and two large men, wearing even worse suits, snapped to attention, ready to approach us if necessary.

“I’m here for somethin’ else. Your money’s comin’, I promise.” Stan said, though it was more than clear that he was lying.

“Mason Prestwich, I presume?” I asked, puffing out my chest.  No short, sausagey casino man squeezed into a lemon yellow tux was going to manage to intimidate me. “Was your, uh, _casino_ open for business last night? Were you here?”

“My casino is open _every_ night.” Prestwich motions his goons over, their ugly mugs towered a good five inches over my head.  “Who’s askin’?”

“Pierre Arronax.” The name fell off my tongue before I could think of a better one, and it was a miracle that Prestwich believed that load of crap. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he knew it was fake right from the start. From the corner of my eye, I saw Stan staring at me, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips and a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Were all your _employees_ on the clock last night?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern. What are you doin’ with this jackass, 8-Ball?” Prestwich looked red in the face, his slicked back hair was coming undone. _What was he up to last night? He’s clearly hiding something. Is he really the type to act **this** flustered after attempting a double homicide, though? I suppose it’s a little different when the guy you had a hit on suddenly shows up the next day looking for trouble. _

“You’re Vette’s pimp, aren’t you?” One of the goons, a bulky man in a terrible looking pinstripe suit who could really take better care of his skin, said, gesturing to Stan.

“Vette?” Prestwich asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow, a smug look on his face. I glanced back at Stan, who’d taken a half step backwards into a fighting stance, but he hadn’t raised his fists yet, his face red, with anger or embarrassment I couldn’t tell. Likely both. _Vette? Is that what he goes by on the streets?_ My fingers flitted just above where my gun was hidden. _It doesn’t matter, as long as Stan doesn’t blow our cover, let them think whatever they want._

“What’s it to ya?” Stan spat, wiping a stray strand of hair from his face.

“I’ve just heard a lot about a new girl on the corner who will work for more than just money.” Prestwich laughed, looking at me, expecting me to laugh with him.

Something curdled in my gut when I the way those vultures looked at Stanley Pines.

“Listen 8-Ball… Vette, whatever you’re goin’ by now. I think I can strike up a little deal. You come back workin’ for me, I’ll forget your debt. Give you a little somethin’ to perk you up in return for your… _services_.”

“...Are you offering him illegal drugs.” I asked through gritted teeth. “In exchange for sex?” Every muscle in my body tensed up, I allowed myself to take a small step forward, putting myself between Stanley and Prestwich.

“Christ, do you want me to spell it out for you?” Prestwich laughed, pulling out a dime bag and tossing it to Stanley. “This fucker’s got a few screws loose, Vette. Come work for me, an’ I can make all this a walk in the park.”

“Put your hands in the air! Las Vegas Police Department!” I shouted, using one hand to push Stan backwards and drawing my gun, taking aim right at Prestwich’s smarmy face. “You are under arrest!”

“...You led a _cop_ to my casino? To my humble establishment?” Prestwich glared at Stan. “You know I’m a powerful man, Vette. This pig? Can’t touch me, and when he eventually gives up, I’m going to find you and make your life a living hell.”

“You’re under arrest for drug possession.” I said, almost growling. “Put your hands in the air. Now.”

Stan shouted, “Watch it, Indigo!” as one of Prestwich’s goons, the quiet one with a hardened face, drew a pistol, trained on me. Stan flew forward, his hand was on my chest as the goon put his finger on the trigger. I ducked around Stan, firing once into the goon’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to ask again, Prestwich. You’re under. Arrest.” I said, this time aiming for Prestwich. “Put your hands. Up.” Stan’s chest was heaving, his fists were up and if things escalated further, I would have lost him. “...Conseil, go outside. Get out of here, let me handle this.”

Stan took a few seconds to process what I’d said, and slowly made his way to the exit, keeping an eye on me until he slipped out the door.

It took longer than I would have liked to finally incapacitate the goons and get Prestwich in cuffs. I led him outside and searched for Stan, who sat in my car, looking less than pleased. _He must have picked the lock. We’ll need to talk about that._ I shoved Prestwich and his goons in the back seat and pulled a small radio receiver out of the glove box. Stan rolled his eyes, folding his arms and refusing to look at me.

“I’m gonna all these goons in, a squad car’ll pick them up. You doin’ okay?”

“M’fine.” Stan snapped, glaring at me.

I sighed, clicking the radio and connecting with the station. “This is Detective Indigo Vasquez. I’m calling in a 10-15, requesting backup.” A voice on the other end replied, confirming backup. I looked in my rearview mirror at Prestwich and his goons in my back seat. “As soon as you asses are in the station I’m getting a warrant. _Neither_ of your shady businesses are gonna be in operation, Prestwich.”

“Hey, Vette, how long have you been fucking a cop? That’s a new low for you.” Prestwich spat.

Stan turned red again, balling his fists up.

“He was part of an undercover operation, you nitwit.” I said, “You’re the one who wanted to fuck him, not me.”

Stan looked like he was about to punch the windshield in.

The squad car took only a few minutes, it wasn’t hard to convince them I’d just happened upon a drug deal instead of doing an off the books case. I told them to put in an order for a warrant and to search the casino.

 By the time I got back into my car, Stan was steaming.

“What. The Hell. Was that?” Stan growled lowly.

“What? The arrest?”

“That Conseil undercover cop bullshit.”

“I couldn’t give away the case, this whole thing is off the books.” I said. “I saved our asses.”

“You made me look like some… some, helpless hooker!” Stan’s fists were clenched, his face was red.

“I made you look like an informant for the police, _they_ were the ones who were treating you like a--” I stopped short, taking a deep breath and restlessly tapping one finger against the steering wheel. “...I guess I was no better last night.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve met a jerkier cop, and I’ve met lots of jerky cops.  You’re a grade-a asshole.”

I heaved a sigh, rubbing my face with my hands. “Okay, so maybe I could be a little nicer to you. This is a lot of stress on me too, okay? I don’t want that killer to go out and kill again. And I don’t want you to get hurt again either. I need you-- for this case.” I paused, my fingers itching for a cigarette. “And, uh… thanks for what you did back there. Saved both our hides.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve already seen one person get shot and die this week. Don’t need another.” Stan said, his arms folded across his chest still, but his expression softer.

“...It might be a few days before they find her.” I said. “But they’ll find her. Do you want to get something to eat? You look like you could use a good meal.”

Stan looked at me like I’d grown a second head, but leaned back in the passenger seat. “Sure. You can use the fifty you still owe me.”

“Right. Still need to go to the bank.” I said. “Did you… have any place in mind? Preferably somewhere where no one will recognize me?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know a diner right off the strip. Unless you gamble frequently, you probably don’t know anyone there. Most sad saps go there after they lose all their money, the owner’s got a soft spot, gives out free meals.”

“Alright. We’ll hit the bank, then the diner, then the next suspect. And, just as a heads up, I _will_ be arresting him whether he’s our perp or not.” I said.

“Fine.” Stan huffed. “Not like I’m gonna argue with that.”

Corvette’s Diner was a shabby little joint at the very end of the strip, with cracked windows and a door that didn’t quite sit right in its frame. Despite its disheveled appearance, it felt somewhat cozy. Like an old friend you’d never met. Stan walked in first, with his shoulders square, his head held high, and was greeted by a chorus of friendly voices, other regulars probably down on their luck, just like him. Some greeted him as Vette, some as Andrew, some as Stenson of all things.

Attending the lunch counter was a large man-- no, large didn’t quite describe him. He was huge, taller than the men I’d just arrested, had to have been six foot five, at least, and his shoulders alone were almost as wide. He quickly greeted Stan in the middle of the restaurant with an alarmingly big hug.

“Andrew!” The man said, through a mouth that _had_ to be hidden _somewhere_ underneath his mustache, if you knew where to look.

“Jimmie! It’s been a while!” Stan said, smiling. “How ya been?”

“Just fine, just fine. Business is good. Hey, you hungry? Take a seat, your favorite booth is open. Who’s your friend?”

“He’s not my friend. And his name is Lionel.” Stan said, a mischievous smirk on his face. “He’s paying.”

I stifled a groan. Lionel? What the hell was he thinking? It felt like a name from a bad romance novel. And Stan and I were anything _but_ romantic. “Jimmie, huh? You’re the owner of this establishment?”

“Establishment?” Jimmie’s laugh boomed through the place. “Yeah, this is my joint. Gee, Lionel, why so stiff?

“He’s got something up his ass.” Stan deadpanned.

“Well, it’s not you, or he’d be a happier looking guy!” Jimmie laughed, clapping Stan on the back.

I felt my face flush red. “Can you show us a table, _Jimmie?_ ” I said.

Jimmie laughed even louder, if that were possible, and led Stan and I to a booth in the back of the diner. “So, what can I get you boys?” Jimmie asked.

“I’ll take a meatball sub.” Stan said. “You make ‘em best, Jimmie.”

“Make it two.” I said, not bothering to look at the menu. “Do you have beer? I’ll also take whatever is coldest.”

Jimmie and Stan burst into laughter. “Do we have beer?” Jimmie said through his laughter. “Of course we’ve got beer!”

Stan noticed the mortified look on my face and his laughter quieted. “Make it two, Jimmie. Thanks.”

Jimmie nodded, giving us a smile and glancing between the two of us. “Alright then. It’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Jimmie.” Stan said, giving him a wink. Jimmie nodded and walked away, to chat with other customers, take other orders. Stan’s face fell, just a little bit, after he left.

“...Interesting guy.” I noted.

“He was my first client.” Stan said, his elbows resting on the table, a strange, bittersweet look in his eyes. “I struck out at every casino on and off the strip. Didn’t have a penny to my name. Came in here because I’d heard they give out free meals from time to time. ‘You need somethin’, you go to Corvette’s. They’ll treat ya right.’ Then, uh… Then Jimmie made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Stan drummed his fingers against the table. “Turns out Jimmie made it big in some casino about ten years back. He was about our age then. Didn’t spend it, instead he came out here and bought this crappy joint and a crappier house. No mortgage payments on either, and he gets a steady enough income from the diner. Saves his money, never fixes anything unless he really has to. He’s a great guy.”

“Is he why they call you Vette?” I asked, reaching into my pocket and offering Stan a cigarette.

Stan snatched the cigarette away and nodded. “Yep. This is where it all started.” Stan sighed. “And for Laura, it ended a couple blocks down.”

I frowned and leaned forward to light Stan’s cigarette. The smoke clouded around our faces, like a ghost. It was hard not to watch the smoke curl out from Stan’s lips, but this wasn’t the time for that. I averted my gaze. “We’ll find the bastard that did this.”

Stan stayed silent, staring off in deep thought, taking beautifully slow drags from his cigarette.

Once Jimmie brought Stan and I a bottle of beer, Stan perked up, just a little bit.

“...You liked him. Didn’t you.” I asked, placing a paper napkin that, despite the fact that it was unused, was already greasy, in my lap and taking a bite of my sub.

“Why do you care?” Stan asked, his mouth half full with food.

“I don’t.” _Do I?_ “It was just an observation.” _Was it really?_ “If you two were more involved than you say… he might be a suspect.”

“Let’s just say, Jimmie taught me a valuable lesson. _Don't_ fall for johns. Especially ones that are a decade older than you. It gets in the way of business.” Stan said, snuffing his cigarette and taking a long swig of beer. “And no. Jimmie is about as big as a professional wrestler. The guy who did this wasn’t _that_ big.”

“Good to know.” I said.

“Wow, yeah, to you he’s probably even bigger. He’s like, ten times your size.” Stan said, laughing a little despite himself.

“Are you calling me short?”

“You're a good three inches shorter than me, and I'm not _that_ tall.” Stan said. “So yeah. I'm calling you short. In more ways than one.”

That was a bold faced lie and Stan knew it. I liked to think I was pretty well endowed. “The whole point of us coming here was to keep people in the dark about last night.”

“Why are you so bothered by it? You seemed to enjoy yourself just fine last night.” Stan said.

“It was _illegal,_ Stan.” I said. “And even if it wasn't, if anyone finds out about it my career is done.”

“Yeesh, you’re so sensitive. Look, no one here's a snitch. You'll be fine, unless you drop the case. Then… you know, I go over your head and spill the whole thing.” He said. “Vengeance, you know?”

“Oh god, my career really is over. How the hell are we supposed to catch this guy and bring him in off the books?” I asked.

“Going off the books was your idea, not mine.” Stan shrugged.

“Going off the books is what's keeping your ass out of _jail._ ” I said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stan grumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Look, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You almost done eating? I wanna get this day over with.”

I paused, staring at Stan's plate, which had been full a mere five minutes ago and now was licked clean. “... I'll just take mine to go then.” I said, setting down my own half eaten sub.

“Now, what’s the name of this ringleader? Where are we supposed to find him?” I asked.

“Well… if he's not in the morgue, our best bet is the emergency clinic on the other side of the tracks. It was only a few days ago that we found him.” Stan said, nodding towards Jimmie to signal that we were ready for our check. “We didn’t exactly give him any first aid after Laura-- After she roughed him up. He just went by Snake Eyes on the streets, but uh… I _might_ have taken his wallet. His real name was Cande Lisandro.”, Stan said, taking out an old, faded leather wallet from his pocket. He produced an ID, one for a Cande Lisandro. “This is our guy.”

“...I think the station got a report from Lisandro. He's been arrested a few times on drug possession, but the other night he claimed he'd been mugged by three men in masks. No physical description. He was admitted to an emergency clinic. Sound like something he'd do?”

“Well I didn't exactly know him personally but _most_ people aren't going to tell a hospital ‘Oh hey, I'm the ringleader for a child trafficking ring and a girl I'd kidnapped a few years ago came back and broke every bone in my body. Oh and can I have the _deluxe_ maximum security prison cell with that confession?’ so I'm thinking it's worth checking out.

“Alright, I think that’s enough sarcasm for now.” I said. “...This guy’s not going to be in any condition to fire a weapon, right?” I asked.

“Nah, probably not. Laura broke a few bones. She… really did a number on the guy. Not that I’m blaming her.” Stan said.

“Then you’ll be fine coming into the hospital with me.” I said. “I’m not leaving you out by yourself until I’m sure we’ve got this guy behind bars.”

Stan handed me the stolen ID and placed the wallet back in his pocket. “I’ll take the cost of dinner out of your bill. Now you owe me about… Forty.”

I sighed and placed a ten dollar bill on the table, and handed a twenty to Stan. “This is about all the cash I have left, alright?”

“You’ve got until we solve the case. Then I start taking cues from Prestwich.” Stan muttered.

I stood up, admittedly flustered talking about my bill with the prostitute I hired. “Come on.”

It was a short ride to the hospital, spent in a thick, heavy silence. It wasn’t hard to get in to see Lisandro, since as far as anyone else knew, I was just a simple plainclothes detective, returning a stolen wallet to a mugging victim.

Cande Lisandro had broken legs, several cracked ribs, horrible gashes on his face, and they had him in a neck brace.

_Well… at least Laura gave him hell._

“Mr. Lisandro? I’m Detective Indigo Vasquez, I’ve been assigned to your case.” I said. Without Laura to testify, there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him yet, Stan’s testimony wouldn’t be enough. This was my only shot to prove that he was the ringleader of a trafficking ring, and that he’d orchestrated Laura’s death. _But how could he do that from a hospital bed…_

“Ay Dios mio!” Lisandro screamed the second he saw Stanley, trying in vain to get as far away from him as possible, only managing to retreat a few inches.

“Shit.” Stan muttered, already backing up to the door.

“Surprised to see him?” I asked.

“You already know everything!” Lisandro shouted. “Take me to prison just don’t tell any of the others I’m here.”

“Woah, now, I’m gonna need a confession before I can do that.” I said, grabbing Stan by the wrist. “Stan, don’t leave, I need you here.”

“And _what_ do you need me _for_ , exactly?” Stan asked, his eyebrows knit in frustration.

“I need you to help me solve this case. To get a confession, to get the story straight.” I said

Stan paused, milling my words over, staring at my hand grasping his. He slowly pulled away from my grasp. “Okay, but I'm not tellin' you any more incriminating shit.”

“You won’t have to.” I said. “He’s going to spill everything.”

Cande Lisandro tried to sit up as best he could. “Okay, okay, just don’t let him near me. Either of them.” He said. “Where’s the other one? The girl with the crowbar?”

“You gave her a crowbar?” I asked, turning to Stan.

“She had tiny fists, she wouldn't do any damage with hands alone!” Stan said, defending himself.

“Alright, Lisandro. What exactly are your… crimes?” I said, glaring at the man in front of me. “You confess to me now, your sentence won’t be as severe as it could be--”

“And if you don't, I would be happy to rough you up until you feel like talking.” Stan interjected.

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk.” Lisandro said. “I’ll talk… We smuggle people across the border for a small fee--”

“Small fee my ass.” Stan interrupted, his face red with anger.

“Okay, okay! A large fee! And sometimes, when we find a pretty girl, we’d…”

“If you’re thinking of a nicer way to phrase it don’t bother.” I said, folding my arms.

“There’s a lot of rich gringos who’ll pay big money for a night with a young girl.” He said. “And they can get pretty specific. So… young girls from Mexico and anywhere south of that, we’d look at them, if they didn’t speak English, if they were healthy enough, they were the payment.”

“You kidnapped them. You’re a ringleader in a child trafficking ring.” I said. “...One more thing. That girl with the crowbar. When was the last time you saw her?”

“A couple nights ago when _that one_ tied me to a chair,” Lisandro began, gesturing to Stanley as best he could. “And she walked in and beat me with a crowbar, BAM BAM BAM! Didn’t stop, she just kept going until she collapsed.”

“That was the last time you saw her? You must have been very angry. Angry enough to call for a hit.”

“I can’t even feed myself.” Lisandro said. “And lord have mercy on the guy dumb enough to cross her with _him_ around to back her up.”

“...That's all the information we need.” I said, turning to leave. “Oh, and one more thing?” I added, tossing his Driver’s License on the floor. “There’s your license back. Not that you’ll need it where you’re going. Let's go, Stan.”

Stan looked absolutely livid, but his eyes carried an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“...I'll call his confession in and meet you at the car.” I said as we left Lisandro to his injuries. “And I'll see if they found Laura’s body. We'll need the results of the autopsy if we want to catch this guy.”

“I can’t fucking believe it!” Stan yelled. “That was our last lead. I was sure it was him! Who the fuck else would it be?!”

“We'll find the murderer.” I said, taking out a cigarette and offering one to Stan. “This will all get a little easier once we get that autopsy. We find Laura’s body, we can find the bullet that killed her. From there, it's only a matter of time before we find the gun that fired it.”

Stan took the cigarette and leaned forward for me to light it, something he’d gotten used to by now. “It’s almost dark out, we wasted a whole day.” He said. “Look… I've got to get to work. I'll meet you in the morning?”

“Work? No, I’m not allowing you to be out on the streets all night. You’re a key witness, you need to stay somewhere safe, discrete.” I said.

“You already cheated me out of a night's work last night and I'm not gonna let you cheat me out of another.”

I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Alright… How much do you charge for a night? You can stay at my apartment, I have a pull out sofa.”

“You're serious? You remember what happened last time we fucked, you know you're just digging yourself deeper.”

“We’ll go to the bank right now, before it closes, and get however much you need. You are coming home with me tonight, Stanley Pines.” I said, my voice commanding.

Stan paused, mulling something over in his head. “One full night can run you up to thousand dollars, depending on what you want and how much you get. Bare minimum is five hundred.”

“¡Ay Dios mío!” This man would run my bank account dry. I’d have to pull from my savings, but I had a gut feeling that it would be worth it. “Alright, alright. Let's go.”

After an awkward visit to the bank (Stan saw an ATM for the first time and figured out how to break it in a span of five minutes) and a withdrawal of fifteen-hundred dollars, I took Stan back to his car so he could follow me to my apartment. Luckily, I had cleaned up recently, my living room was in ship shape condition, the decor very stylish and modern to the times, if I say so myself. I always had an appreciation for trends, and did my best to stay current. Stan huffed as he walked into my apartment, not looking at any of the decor, instead looking for windows, for the fire escape. _Good to know all my hard work pays off. The company I keep always loves my furniture choices._

“You, um… you can make yourself comfortable.” I said, tossing my keys in a little bowl by the door, and locking it behind me. I loosened my tie and headed straight for my liquor cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“I don't drink before work.” Stan said, his face hardening into a glare.

“That makes sense… do you mind if I have a drink, then?” I asked, already pouring a glass of bourbon.

“Do what you want.” He said, glancing at the black leather couch before taking a seat. “This is a real swanky place you've got.”

“Thank you.” I said, taking a quick sip of my drink and joining Stan on the sofa. “I try to keep the place looking nice.”

Stan slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar ribbon and tying his hair back. “So? What’s it gonna be this time around? Anything you want to try?”

I cleared my throat and set my drink down. “Yes, actually. I want you here. On the couch. And I’ll be in the bedroom. And that’s where we’ll both stay, out of each other’s way.”

Stan stared at me for a moment, before leaning back in the couch, letting his feet rest just underneath the coffee table. “You sly motherfucker. This is going to cost you the full one thousand.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really bleed ‘em dry, don’t you? I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets, alright?”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re my best customer. Most nights I can only get people to pay me in things that aren’t necessarily money.” Stan said, resting his eyes for just a moment.

“Well, I imagine most men are skittish about hiring a male prostitute.” I said, getting up to grab Stan some linens. “Have you ever had a… female client?”

“Like I’m going to turn away a quick buck.” Stan scoffed. “Yeah. I’ve had female clients. Pretty much any gender is welcome at Casa de Vette.”

“Wow.” I muttered. I handed Stan a pile of neatly folded sheets and a spare pillow. “The sofa pulls out into a bed.”

“So what about you? You always such a hard ass when it comes to taking cases?” Stan asked, not at all appreciating my expensive pull out sofa.

“Not always. You learn to be a hard-ass after a few crappy cases.” I replied, returning to my seat on the sofa and finishing off my drink.  “You know, when I first started, I took every case that came through my door? Eventually the other guys got wise, started shuffling cases they didn’t want towards me, cause they knew I’d take them. I got a few that never got solved, a few that ended badly.” I got up immediately to pour another glass of bourbon, memories of my earlier cases flooding back far too quickly.

“Wow, so Mr. Perfect Ace Detective wasn’t always perfect? Surprise there.” He said, his tone thick with sarcasm.

“No, I wasn’t. Two years ago I had a partner. More of a mentor, really. He’d been on the force for about ten years. His name was Nicholas Vernon. He was patient and clever, he was the perfect person to train under, the best mind on the force.” I said, taking a long sip from my drink. “He really did take every case that came across his desk. Never complained about it. Liked his job, did it well. He cared about people.”

“So what happened?” Stan asked.

“It was a simple case, we got called to the scene of a bank robbery, and the damn bastard shot Vernon before I could shoot him. That was the first time I had ever shot someone. The perp got Vernon right in the mouth. He was killed, and I barely wounded the perp.” I chuckled just a bit despite myself. “I guess I always did aim for the shoulder by instinct.”

“Woah…” Stan muttered softly, looking down at his lap. “You saw him die? That’s… that’s really brutal. And you’re still in the business, too. I, uh-- I’m really sorry about your loss, Indigo.”

“Of course I’m still in the business. I got into this business to help people--” I paused, ignoring Stan’s sarcastic chuckle. “I just prioritized some things over others after that. And… That wasn’t the way to go about things. Stan… I’m not going to lie, if it wasn’t for the fact that I have to do this off the books in order to keep you out of prison, this would be a pretty high profile case. Even by Las Vegas standards. And I almost passed it up.”

“All it took was a BJ and you _came_ to your senses. If you don’t mind the pun.” Stan said, grinning.

I covered my face to hide the redness creeping across my cheeks. “Do you have to keep reminding me?”

“Why are you so embarrassed that it happened?” Stan asked.

“Because it isn’t… it’s not--” I huffed, searching for the word. “It isn’t natural.”

“Okay, we fucked, so you officially _don’t_ get to say anything my father would have reasonably said in his lifetime.” Stan said, pointing a finger at my chest. “It’s just as natural as anything you’d do with some woman. I mean, come on, there’s not that much of a difference anyways.”

“No, there’s a difference.” I corrected him, the liquor getting the best of me. “You’re very different from the women I’ve dated. You’re… strong, and you’re confident, almost commanding. It’s quite refreshing, actually.”

“You… You should’ve met Laura.” Stan said, sighing and stealing a drink from my glass. I felt a spark as soon as our hands touched. “We weren’t that different.” He leaned against the arm of the sofa, facing me. “You know Laura wasn’t her real name? She was-- she was so _young_ when they kidnapped her, and-- well, they just started calling her Angel right away. So she just couldn’t remember what her real name was. When she escaped, she just picked Laura Smith. Not sure why.”

“You two were close? Did… Did you love her?’ I asked, handing the glass back over once I got a good swig.

“Indigo, she was about ten years younger than us. So like that? No.” Stan said. “But… I guess she was like the little sister I never had. So I guess I did love her.” He drank what was left of my glass and handed it back. I held onto his hand with both of mine, looking directly in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Stan. We’re going to make this right. _I’m_ going to make this right.”

“...Indigo?” Stan said, quietly. “Remember when Lisandro said no one in their right mind would hurt Laura, cause I was there to back her up?” Stan was a big man, two sips of bourbon wasn’t going to get him drunk. Every word coming from Stan’s mouth was genuine. “When Vernon died… did you ever feel like you’d fucked up? Like you couldn’t protect them?”

Stan lowered his shield, just slightly, and I was ready to offer everything to him. “That’s precisely how I felt. I blamed myself for a circumstance I couldn't prevent. I took leave from the force for three months, I thought about it every day, went over everything that I did wrong. My job was to back my partner up, he trusted me. And I let him down. After a while I realized, I did everything I possibly could to do that job correctly. Sometimes when you try your hardest, you don’t get the best result. Some things just happen.” I blurted out, grasping Stan’s hand. “Sometimes, you just fuck up.”

Stan twitched, gripping my hands back. “Say… are you sure you want to just keep me in the living room tonight? You bought a whole night with me, you could use that night however you want to.”

“I’m not sure, Stan, I don’t kno--”

“A night is going to get you a lot more than a blowjob, Indigo.”

There was no way I could have refused such an offer from Stanley Pines. “Okay. Sure. But, um… I’ll be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll go easy on you.” Stan hopped off the couch and dug into the duffle bag he’d brought in from his car. “Do you want me to dress up?”

“Oh! You don’t have to… I think you look just fine.” I stammered, “Should I go to the bedroom?”

“Go ahead, get comfortable, I’ll meet you back there.” Stanley said, his gruff voice commanding.

I nodded and watched Stan dig through his bag over my shoulder while I retreated to my bedroom. I panicked as soon as I shut the door. _What do I do? Should I get naked? Should I play music? What if I do something wrong?_ I pulled off my tie and my belt, knowing they would surely get in the way, and sat on the edge of my bed. _Maybe I should have done some research before agreeing to this._

Stan knocked on my bedroom door and let himself in. He’d stripped down to undergarments, a sight that sent my heart and my hormones soaring. His body was thick and broad in all the right places, a little soft in the stomach and chest, and all around sensational. He approached me wordlessly, and straddled my lap. I became speechless, unable to communicate. I responded to every slight touch he gave me with soft whimpers and gasps, I followed his every command. He pushed me back on the bed and made his night’s mission to drive me insane.

I remember our first time together like a blur, our bodies twisted together, pain dissolving into pleasure, limbs, fingers, grasping and twisting around each other. I had this primal need, this sensation that only Stanley Pines could fill. It came so naturally, so fluidly, it felt like I was born to be in that moment with him. It ended as abruptly as it began, and my mind was hazed in a cloud of pleasure. My eyes fluttered shut.

In the middle of the night, I felt a chill, a missing presence in my bed. I rolled over to see Stan creeping away from my bed and down the hall. I can’t say that I blamed him. For all I knew, he considered me just as terrible and disgusting as any other man who hires another man to have relations with him. But did every other man Stanley Pines had touched, feel as moonstruck as I had that night?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indigo is like a fucking tsundere
> 
> Indigo: Stanley Pines, I want you out of my office and out of my life
> 
> ~Literally the next chapter~
> 
> Indigo: You are never leaving my side, Stan.


	3. Dead on Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise as Indigo has a personal revelation and the case takes a deadly turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing happens that isn't mentioned in the archive tags.

I woke up the next morning with a headache, and a sore ass. I desperately wanted to hit snooze on my alarm clock, but if I was going to get anything done, I would have to face the day, sore ass and all. The smell of bacon wafted past my nose, slightly burnt but not unpleasant, or unwelcome. Slowly, keeping a hand on my temple to stifle my headache, I stood up, groping for my robe, the red silk slipping through my fingers as I wrapped it around my shoulders. I sighed, giving the door a quick glance before walking into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

 _Christ I look like I was hit by a truck_. I looked in the mirror and shuddered. My eyes were plagued with dark circles, almost as dark as my hair. _Jesus, my hair._ Stan had really done a number on it last night, sticking out from where he had tugged it. Which… was everywhere. I grabbed for my comb, detangling what I could and slicking back what I couldn’t. I splashed a little water on my face in an attempt to look awake, pausing to admire my good looks. I was in my prime, fairly muscular and well-tanned with dark, unblemished skin. My jaw was never as sharp as I would have liked, but I considered myself handsome nonetheless.

Once I looked presentable, I made my way to the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and eggs joining the enticing scent of bacon, meeting together in a delicious breakfast. Stan stood in his underwear, cooking up a storm.

“What’s all this?” I asked. “Is breakfast part of the deal or something?”

“What? No, this is for _me_. I think there’s still some toast left if you’re hungry.” Stan said.

“Stan, that stack of pancakes is enough for three people.” I said, furrowing my brow.

“Yeah well I’m hungry enough for three people.” Stan rolled his eyes. “...Besides, they’re _Stan_ cakes.” He muttered.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Stancakes, huh? That’s new.”

“Hey fuck off, my brother and I used to make these all the time when we were kids. It’s _nostalgic_.” Stan said.

“Your brother?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pot Stan had already made.

Just like that, Stan stopped everything he was doing, his hand gripping the handle of the frying pan. He stood there for a second, letting the eggs he’d been cooking sputter and burn.

“Are you okay, Stan?” I asked, before it hit me. “...Is he still around?”

“Yeah. He’s around. Just not around me.” Stan said. “We were twins, we did _everything_ together. And _now_ he’s off gallivanting around and not paying any attention to his family while _I’m_ living on the streets!” Stan sighed, grabbing a spatula and scraping what was left of the eggs from the pan.

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that, Stan.” I said.

“It’s fine. It’s fine, I was the one who fucked up anyways.” Stan wasn’t looking at me. “...He still left me behind, though.” He muttered under his breath.

I slowly reached into a cabinet, pulling out a large china plate, piling it high with the… stancakes, and adding plenty of bacon and even some eggs. “...Do you take yours with syrup and butter?” I asked, setting the plate down at the kitchen table.

“Huh?” Stan turned his head, shocked to see me making him a plate. “Uh… Yeah, sure.”

I nodded, opening the refrigerator and searching for a stick of butter. “So… today I’ve got to be at the station. In my office. I can’t take you with me, so uh… _Don’t_ leave the apartment and don’t let anyone in? There’s a gun in one of the drawers in the bathroom if something happens. We can continue the investigation at about five?”

“Wait, you’re locking me up in here all day?” Stan asked. “Fuck that, I’ve got people to scam and money to make.”

“ _And_ you’ve got a murderer who’s still on the loose and wants you dead.” I said. “I can’t take you with me so you’re staying here. Oh, and stay away from the balcony, I don’t want anyone seeing you and getting funny ideas about finishing what they started.” I paused, opening up another cabinet. “We’ve got maple syrup and blueberry, what do you want?”

Stan glared at me, not answering my question. “Look, I told you. One bad day is enough to _ruin_ a guy like me. I can’t _afford_ not to go out there.”

“I’ll just have to pay you for another night then.” I said. “Because I’m not letting you leave this apartment without protection. And thanks to _your_ penchant for blackmail, I'm the only one who can offer it.”

“Fine, I’ll stay cooped up here all day, but I’m gonna be upping your fee.” Stan said, crossing his arms. “...Five hundred. Up front.” He said, before devouring his breakfast. “We’ll work out the rest depending on how bored I get while I’m here.”

“I have a television, and a few records. I have some old books as well. You’ll be fine. I should be charging _you_ for groceries.” I said. “You basically emptied my fridge.”

“You’ve still got _plenty_ in there. Trust me.” Stan said, glaring at me. “...Fine, four hundred and ninety up front. But, for making me change the price I’m going to add ten dollars to the rest of your fee.”

“Wait… what? Stan, that’s still five hundred.” I said.

“Hey, take it or leave it, pal. I could always just go back to the corner of ninth and skid row and make more than that.” Stan said, taking a bite of bacon.

“I thought you said last night you had trouble getting customers who paid in cash?” I deadpanned.

“Yeah, but I can always sell what they pay me with. I have _ways_. Besides, Stanley Pines does _not_ lower prices.” He said.

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’m from Jersey, what’d you expect?” Stan laughed, despite himself.

After Stan allowed me some of his breakfast (after I reminded him who's fridge and apartment it had come from), I quickly showered and dressed for the day. I grabbed a banana before leaving for the door. “If you need anything, Stan, my office number is on my dresser in the bedroom. Call if there's can emergency.”

“Yeah, sure.” Stan rolled his eyes.

 _I should've locked up the silver._ I thought as I made my way to my car.

The office was in a panic once I got there, and along with Laura's autopsy report, there was a new case on my desk. Two more prostitutes were found while the search team was looking for Laura’s body, tied up in the Mojave and shot dead. One man, one woman.

“Shit.” I muttered, reaching for the phone on my desk.

  _This sounds like a serial murder case._

“Shit!” My fingers might as well have been made of wood as I dialed the number for the morgue.

_We're not looking for someone with a vendetta against **Stan**. We're looking for a guy with a vendetta against hookers._

“Helen? This is Detective Indigo Vasquez. I need you to check something for me. That double homicide that got in last night? I need you to check if the bullets from those victims were fired from the same gun as the one that killed Laura Smith.” I said into my intercom. Helen was a smart woman, she'd been performing autopsies since before I could walk. There was nothing she hadn't seen before.

“What makes you so sure the cases are connected?” She asked, her voice crackling through the speaker.

“Cause the man who reported Laura’s murder was supposed to be a victim himself.” I said. “That'd make four murders in less than a week, we could have a serial killer on our hands if this goes on any longer.”

“Right away, Detective Vazquez.” Helen said. “The results will be on your desk tomorrow. I don't like the looks of this double homicide, this case is taking top priority today.” She said.

The fact that Helen was perturbed was more than unsettling. _Maybe I should call Stan and warn him. Just in case. But that could backfire, send him into a panic or worse, make him leave the apartment when we still don't know who this guy is, or even if they're a serial killer._

I sat down at my desk and began studying the case files, every detail. _I’m going to catch this guy. I’m going to catch this guy before he can get to Stan again._

The rest of my day was agonizing, spent collecting as much evidence on the double homicide as possible, worrying about Stan the entire time. _Christ, I almost turned him away. And what if he’d given up after that? What if he’d gone back to his car and we never saw each other again? No, no we’d see each other again. But I’d be the only one doing the seeing, because **he’d** be in a body bag. No wonder he can’t stand me. **I** can barely stand me!_

The hours ticked by slowly until it was finally five o’clock, and I raced out of my office, almost stopping to call Stan on my way out before rationalizing that it’d be faster if I just headed to my apartment, and hoped that nothing had happened to Stan while I was gone.

I came home to find Stan laying on the floor, in the middle of my good shag rug, surrounded by books. His nose was buried in my brand new copy of _The Princess Bride._

“Well. Looks like someone found something to do after all.” I deadpanned.

“ _Shh._ ” Stan said, putting his hand up to stop me from speaking. The house looked surprisingly neat, and besides my books, nothing was out of place. Next to my telephone was a piece of paper with scribbled writings.

“Stan, did you answer my phone?” I asked, almost afraid to look at the paper.

“Huh?” Stan dog eared the page, _the bastard, that book was new_ , and sat up. “Oh, yeah. No one important called. Just a few salesman and a hippie who wanted you to sign some petition.” Stan said, shrugging and getting back to his reading.

I squinted at the paper, where Stan had taken… detailed notes. Among them were “ _Shitty vacuum salesman needs to work on pitch_ ” and “ _Call for a ‘Mr. Vasquez’ from ‘Notta Sham’ about ‘life changing seminar’_ ” and “ _Some hippie wants you to sign a petition._ ”

The paper had no less than two penises drawn on it. And the word “ _dicks._ ”

“Wow… Thank you, Stan.” I said, laying on the sarcasm thick.

“I knew you’d get a kick out of my expertly drawn penises.” Stan said. “Considering you like them so much.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Put those books down and grab a jacket. It’s been a long day, and we’re going to get a drink. I need to tell you something about the case.”

“Did you find the killer?” Stan asked.

“Well-- not exactly…” I said.

“Then let me finish this last page.” Stan said. “It’s really good so far. I mean, this Indigo character is a piece of shit but other than that.”

“Will you-- You just don’t like him because we have the same name.” I huffed. “Put on a jacket. I didn’t find the killer but this _is_ important.”

Stan begrudgingly put the book down. “I don’t _hate_ him, he’s just a piece of shit. I mean… more than one person could have six fingers on their right hand.”

“It’s probably his most identifying feature. Now grab a jacket.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Well what about his fucking face then? Wouldn’t _that_ be more useful than the fingers thing?” Stan said.

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore.” I sighed, crossing my arms. “You didn’t run into any trouble today?” I asked. “See anyone suspicious?”

“What? No, I stayed in your apartment all day.” Stan said, pulling on a plain white button up and disregarding any need for a jacket. “...I’ll admit, you’ve got some decent books in there.”

“Really? Thanks. Unfortunately, I don’t get to read them often, I’m so busy… I just sort of collect them. I like how a full bookshelf looks.” I said.

“Heh. You’d have gotten on great with my brother.”

“Well… feel free to read as many as you like. Someone might as well. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t dog ear the pages.” I said. An unspoken _‘and if it’s not me that reads them, I’d rather it be you’_ hung in the air, though I was the only one who noticed.

It was a short walk from my apartment to my favorite bar, a quiet little place called The Dragonfly that often housed small-time jazz musicians. It was a place I went often to relax. Collect my thoughts.

“The Dragonfly? Sounds like it could be a gay bar. You sure no one else knows which team you play for?” Stan joked.

“Don’t start with me. It’s a little jazz club. It’s quiet and we can have privacy to talk about the case. Be happy that I’m buying you a drink.” I said. “...You’re going to need it.”

Stan’s face fell a little at that.

We sat in a little booth, out of the way in the corner of the bar, where no prying eyes could wander. To my surprise, Stan didn’t order the most expensive thing on the menu, instead opting for a single glass of scotch.

“...What’s going on?” He said. The waiter hadn’t gotten back with our drinks yet.

“They found Laura’s body yesterday… and two more bodies were found in roughly the same area this morning. We think they were prostitutes. One man and one woman. The two cases could be connected and if they are… I think we’re dealing with a serial killer.” I said, slowly, keeping my voice down.

Stan’s face paled. For all his criminal expertise, he’d likely never dealt with a serial killer before. And from the looks of it, he didn’t want to. For a second, Stan curled in on himself, clenching his fist and looking… almost vulnerable. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“...Do you know who the other two victims were?” Stan asked. “I’m guessing you’ve got some science thing to prove that the murders are all connected but… do you know who they were?”

“We haven’t gotten a positive ID for them yet. The man was Hispanic, and the woman was African American, but we don’t know anything more than that. We’re waiting to see if their fingerprints are on file, and if the bullets that killed them were fired from the same gun that killed Laura.” I said. “The only reason we know they’re prostitutes was the contents of their pockets, and their attire.”

“What was in their pockets?” Stan asked, perking up.

“Standard stuff. Condoms, contraception pills, a tampon. Playing cards for some reason.” I said, rolling my eyes. “Nothing worth taking, if that’s what you were thinking. This wasn’t a mugging.”

“Playing cards, that’s it!” Stan snapped his fingers. “I don’t know who they are but I know who they worked for!”

“Who they worked for? A pimp?”

“Ehh… sort of. There’s this high class brothel on the other end of the city, that deals more than just lap dances. The Heart’s Suit. They get paid well, they live in cushy apartments, and they’re taken care of really well by their boss. I wanted to get hired there, but all the ‘employees’ there are really skinny, really young. I don’t really fit the bill.” Stan said. “...Heh, it’s funny. Even when I’m doin’ this stuff I can never get a decent job or a decent buck.”

“That’s a pretty big operation. You think the boss is trying to kill competition? Maybe those, er, employees were trying to leave? Or witnessed Laura’s murder? Maybe they saw you and Laura as a threat to their business?”

“We’ll never know, unless we go check it out.” Stan said. “Just… uh… It’s fancy. You have to dress nice. I know I’ve got stuff but… Well some might mistake you for my client if I wear it. Which you can be, if you pay. But...”

“I can lend you one of my suits, maybe some jewelry. I’m sure I have one that’ll work for you. If we dress you up enough, I’m sure nobody will recognize you.” I said.

“...Ain’t that the truth.” Stan drummed his fingers against the table absentmindedly.

“We can go tomorrow night… Are you okay with that? I can investigate on my own if you’re starting to feel unsafe.” I said, slowly.

Stan looked away, contemplating something.

“But I need you to tell me.” I added.

“...I’ll go with you tomorrow night. But me staying in today? Free of charge.” Stan said, finally.

“Hm…? Are you sure? I know I’m keeping you from making money. Even if your way of making money is illegal… I understand that you need to support yourself somehow.” I said.

“...The, uh, five hundred from last night should keep me afloat for about a month… Just, uh…” Stan bit his lip. “Just don’t kick me out of your apartment anytime soon, yeah?”

I _finally_ took notice of the fact that Stan looked more rested than usual, and cleaner too. His once greasy hair had been freshly washed, most of the stains on his shirt were gone. He probably hadn’t showered in far too long, or slept in a place he felt fairly safe. “Fine. You’re helping me out with this case, and also blackmailing me. I won’t let you sleep out on the streets while that killer is still out there, Stan. You have my word.”

Stan seemed to relax a little, as the waiter wordlessly handed us our drinks. “...Thanks, Indigo.”

“You’re welcome.” I said, taking a light sip from my glass. We both enjoyed our drinks in silence, accompanied by soft jazz music and a cigarette or two. Stan’s silence was a bit more pensive, he was likely going over the past few day’s events, trying to recall anything that might help us with the case. I was focusing on not gazing at him too long, trying not to play the previous evening's events over and over in my head. Trying not to admit to myself the one thing I never thought I’d do, especially under _these_ circumstances.

The dim light of the bar caught Stan’s glass.

I took a long, shallow breath.

I was in love.

We both finished our drinks sooner than I would have liked. I could have spent all night sipping on brandy and gazing at Stan. Once the music quieted, I heard Stan’s stomach rumble, bringing me back to reality.

“...There’s some decent food at the apartment.” I said, quietly. “Or we can stay out and eat.”

“I won’t make you spend any more money today, I’ll eat whatever's left in your fridge.” Stan said, chuckling softly at his own joke.

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a brand new microwave oven, and I haven’t tried out any of the frozen dinners I've bought yet.”

“Those things? People used to bring them into the pawn shop all the time, it’s a waste of your money if I ever saw one!” Stan laughed. “But, uh… I guess it’d be your call?” He added sheepishly.

“A night in sounds good to me. We can have another drink at home, I think I have a few beers in the fridge and half a bottle of brandy.” I said. _A night out would have been nice but… with the way things are right now…_

I walked Stan back to my place, enjoying the slight chill of the night air, until I noticed a light coming from under the door of my apartment. I immediately drew my gun, pushing Stan behind me. “I’ll unlock the door, if there’s trouble, _run_.”

Stan nodded, staying behind me and carefully following me to my door.

I heard the faint sound of fuzzy mariachi music from my radio, an old song from when my mother was a child, a song I heard frequently in my own childhood. I turned the key in the door very slowly, one hand on the gun at my belt.

“Mijo!” My mother, of all people, exclaimed, She had taken advantage of her emergency key to my apartment, and my kitchen, making something that smelled too good to be angry about. She scurried to the door with her arms open for a hug.

“Ma?” I said, quickly hiding my gun.

“Indigo, mijo, get inside, shut that door, it’s cold out! …Who’s that with you?” She said, looking over my shoulder at Stan.

“This-- This is Stan, Ma. He’s a, uh, a buddy of mine. We head out for drinks from time to time.” I said.

Stan looked terrified, unprepared to meet my mother. He quietly waved, staying behind me.

“Indigo, I’m disappointed in you. You tell me you’re fine living on your own, but when I come over your living room is a wreck! Books all over the floor! You should move in with me, I’ll clean up after you.” She said, adjusting her big, round glasses.

“Nice try, Ma, I’m not leaving my apartment.” I said, taking note of Stan’s flushing face. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I called you on Monday saying I would come over and make you dinner, remember, mijo?” She said. Stan went from embarrassed to livid to cordial in the span of two seconds. _Oh shit_.

“You’re Indigo’s mother? I thought you were an angel!” Stan said, extending his hand for a shake. My mother blushed and shook Stan’s hand, making him smirk at me. “The name’s Stanley Pines.” He said.

“What a sweet friend you have, Indigo.” She said, turning back to Stan. “You can call me Lupe Vasquez.”

“ _Haría cualquier cosa para una mujer tan hermosa como usted._ ” Stan said.

“ _Me halaga_.” My mother said with a coy smile.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. This would be a long night. “Ma, thank you for making dinner, but you’ve got to stop doing this. Call me right before you come over next time, alright?”

“So you can tell your charming friend to go home? Never!” She laughed, making her way back to the kitchen. “ _Indigo, dónde están sus especias?_ ”

“ _El armario de la izquierda, el estante más alto._ ” I said.

My mother reached on her tiptoes for the spices she needed and continued cooking. “Since you have company, set the table, won’t you?” She asked.

“Your mother seems nice.” Stan said, sporting a shit eating grin.

“If you flirt with my mother one more time, you’re sleeping in my bathtub.” I responded, glaring as I brought out my good china.

“It’s harmless flirting, it’s not like I’m trying to proposition her.” Stan whispered.

“I swear to god, Stan.” I ran a hand down my face.

“Just go set the table, _mijo_.” Stan said.

“Okay, _no_.”

“I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll check out my bed for the night while I’m there. And when I get back I’m going to pester your mom to spill some embarrassing childhood stories about you.” Stan sauntered off to my bathroom, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

I resigned to setting the table, hoping I could talk some sense into my mother before Stan got back. “Ma, I should tell you something…”

“What is it, Mijo? Are you okay? Do you need money?”

“What? No! No, I just… think it’d be better if you didn’t… come down here from Red Rock for a little while.” I said as _gently_ as possible, yet my mother managed to look heartbroken anyways.

“Indigo! I am your mother!”

“No, Ma it’s not like that! Look-- I’m involved in a really dangerous case. Stan, he’s not my drinking buddy. He’s a criminal, a witness I need to solve this case. I can’t let him live out on the streets, so I’m letting him stay here so he can help me solve this thing. There’s a killer, Ma. Stan’s a target already, and if I’m targeted, that could put you in danger. You know coming to Las Vegas is dangerous.” I said, trying to get her to understand.

“Indigo, you are a sweet, smart boy. If he were really all that dangerous, you wouldn’t have brought him home in the first place. What you are doing is very kind… but you should not be so quick to judge, so defensive. He seems like a nice enough young man. He seems like your friend. You could use a friend, mijo.”

“Ma… please, just trust me.” I sighed. Sure, I didn’t have many friends. And Stan was the closest thing I had at the moment. But how to tell your Catholic, aging, frail hearted mother that your friend is not only a prostitute, but that you’ve also had intercourse in the last 24 hours _and_ that… that I did something stupid and fell in love with him?

In a flash, Stan entered the room, stone faced. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Lupe. Thanks for making dinner.” He said, politeness in his voice but a look of hurt in his eyes.

“Sit down, both of you, I’ll make you plates.” My mother said, dishing out carnitas and Spanish rice for the three of us.

“So Stanley,” My mom started. “Tell me about yourself.”

Stan’s shoulders slumped forwards just a little bit, before he straightened up, putting on a smile I’d previously only seen on car salesman (though something told me that if I _ever_ compared Stanley Pines to a car salesman I’d get a swift kick in the ass). “Oh, I’m a travelling salesman!” He said. “You are looking at the founder and sole proprietor of StanCo Enterprises.”

“Oh, is that so? And what is it you do?” My mother asked, encouraging his bullshit.

“I, well… I _invent_ … products. And sell them.” Stan said, cringing when he said the word ‘invent’. “All around the country, sometimes outside it. You know, Colombia is a very beautiful country this time of year, have you ever been?”

“Oh, no, I have not! Indigo, your cousins are from Colombia!” My mother said, before turning back to Stan. “Is that where you learned Spanish?”

“Oh, no. _That_ was from one of my good pals in Mexico City.” Stan said.

“Don’t… take what she said about my cousins literally, Stan. She changes what country my cousins are from every time she meets someone new.” I said, trying to redirect the conversation and failing miserably.

“You must lead a very exciting life, Stan! My Indigo could use a little excitement in his life, you must know, he does not get out of his home very often. Always working. Not even enough time for his mother. You would think he’d make time for a friend!” She said, never one for subtleties.

“Ma, I’ve got plenty of excitement. I’m a detective for Pete’s sake.”

“Eguh _barely_ euglahaha.” Stan coughed out, disguising his words well.

“Still, Indigo seems to like you well enough. I’m glad I got the chance to meet you today.” My mother said.

Stan looked down at his plate, a slight flush across his face. “Likewise.”

The dinner went smoothly enough from there, and eventually I had to usher my mother out the door with money for a cab in hand. I’d offered to hail one for her but she insisted on doing that herself.

Once I had my mother out the door, I’d hoped to return to a calm apartment.

That hope was dashed when Stanley greeted me with a swift punch to the face.

The punch sent me back a few feet, and hurt like hell. “Stan! What the hell, what was that for? … That was a good punch, but, damn!”

“What-- What the _hell_ are you trying to pull here, Indigo? Huh?! You think you can just… just treat me like a person for one second, and as soon as you get what you want, I’m a criminal again? What the fuck _am_ I to you?” Stan yelled.

“Keep your voice down!” I said, rubbing my face where he’d punched me. “I can’t exactly have you going around telling everyone you’re a criminal--”

Stan threw another punch, but this time, I caught it, retaliating with my own. I grew up as can only child, but spent lots of time with rowdy cousins, who all taught me to box out of necessity. Plus, when you’re a cop in Las Vegas, you need to know this sort of thing.

“Once I kick your ass I’m leaving. I don’t give a fuck about your serial killer bullshit, for all I know you just _said_ that because you wanted to show off for your mom!” Stan yelled, throwing a left hook and catching me in the stomach, knocking me to the ground.

I was pretty rusty.

“What? Stan I said that to my mom, because I don’t want her coming to the dangerous parts of the city, we very well could be targeted, I don’t care if you’re a criminal or not!”

“Oh you cared two nights ago when you tried to arrest me!” Stan put his weight on my chest, pinning me to the ground beneath his shoe. “You wouldn’t even take the case, I had to _blackmail_ you into doing that! You don’t give a shit, do you? You don’t give a shit about Laura, and you don’t give a shit about me, you only care about yourself and what it means to _you._ ”

I winced in pain, but stayed down, defeated. “You’re right.” I muttered, looking up at Stan. “I was an asshole, and you’re right. Stan… I’m sorry.”

Stan stopped mid-swing, his face scrunching up when he tried to process what I was saying. “Y-you’re what?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry for treating you like… like you’re less than me. Because you’re not.” I said. “And I should have taken your case the moment you walked through my door. And I wasn't _trying_ to convince my mother that you're a bad person, and she doesn't think of you that way, but I made _you_ think of you that way. And I'm sorry about that, too.” _And I love you, and I don't know what to do about that._ “It doesn't matter to me if you tell the chief of police what we did or not. Right now, there's a possible serial killer out for your head and I can't let them get to you. So… don't leave. Please.”

Stab stepped away, allowing me to sit up and breathe, a hundred emotions flashing over his face. He was looking at me like he was sizing up an opponent, deciding if he should go for the kill. Finally, he spoke. “...Why do you want me to stay?”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Because I care about you. I want you to be safe, I don’t want you to have to sleep in your car. And… I really enjoy having your company. My mother was right when she said I don’t have many friends.” I said, slowly, like walking on a frozen lake.

Stan was silent for a moment.

“...Sorry I didn’t put the books away. And sorry I wrecked your fridge.” He said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Won’t apologize for using your shower, though, I don’t think your mom would’ve thought too highly of me if I smelled like a homeless bum.”

I stood, looking Stan in his beautiful brown eyes, feeling hurt that Stan felt he had to apologize to me. “It’s okay. You can use whatever you need while you’re staying here, okay? Shower, fridge, books, whatever.”

Stan looked at me like I’d just told him he won the lottery. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” I said “But no more punching me.”

“Sounds like a bargain. Deal.” Stan said, extending his hand.

I took Stan’s hand and gave it a firm shake. I allowed my impulse to best me, and pulled Stan close by his hand, and wrapped him in a quick... manly hug. “Deal.” I said.

Stan held me back, hugging tight, but pulling away far too quickly. “We'll figure out what to do about the case in the morning. For right now, I think we should both get some rest. And I think you should get some ice. For, uh, for your face.”

“Yeah… Thanks.” I sighed, and trudged to my refrigerator, and grabbed a handful of ice from the ice maker in the freezer, wrapping it in a paper towel before pressing it to my face. “Oh, and uh, I was kidding about making you sleep in the tub. Sleep wherever you like.” I added, before heading off to bed.

Stan nodded, before curling up on the couch.

 _Damn_ , _I kinda wish he'd taken the bed._

I went to my bed alone with ice on my face, yet… most of the pain was in my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the fic! The next chapter will be up soon! We're trying to synchronize the updates on Shakedown and The Wind in Visions as much as possible, so when one updates the other will usually follow suit!
> 
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	4. Her Royal Highness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing happens that's not in the tags already. Enjoy the fic!

Telling my boss, the sergeant, that I had been investigating undercover almost made me lose my job. If this had not been a high profile serial-murder case, I would have been fired. Thanks to Stan, and Helen's findings, I was commended, given clearance to investigate, access to all the backup I would require, and clearance to have my witness help me with the investigation. Now the only problem was… we had to do things by the books.

“You are _not_ wearing a dress on an official police investigation, Stan.” I said.

“And why not? The Heart's Suit is a brothel, and a gay one at that. They can smell a cop from a mile away, Indigo. You should probably wear a dress too.” Stan said, trying to decide between a red dress and a black one.

“What? No-- Stan, we’re trying to look like c _lients_ okay? I’m wearing a suit.” I took a breath, looking at the array of suits in my wardrobe. “And so are you, pick one out.”

“You've never actually seen a john. Have you. Plenty wear dresses, it's not that uncommon.” Stan rolled his eyes, though he at least spared my suits a quick glance.

“I’m trying to do you a favor Stan, every man needs a good suit. Pick one, or I’ll pick for you.

“I'm not mucking up one of your good suits, okay?”

“You won’t muck it up, hell, I haven't even worn most of these more than once. Please, I want you to have one… Think of it as an apology gift.” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “...You seriously don’t have one of your own?”

“What part of ‘ _been to jail in three countries and living out of my car_ ’ do you not understand?” Stan said, finally _trying_ to find a suit that fit him. Stan was taller than me by a good three inches, and on top of that I’d never quite had his girth.

I squeezed beside him, flipping through the hangers to find something that might work. I pulled out a scarlet number, something I’d tried once and decided was too gaudy for my tastes. I had yet to get the pants tailored to fit me, the legs were tragically too long. “Here… try this one. Since you like red so much.”

“You better hopes this works, Shorty, or I’m busting out the sequins.” Stan said, balancing the suit over one arm and-- _oh sweet Jesus._

Maintaining intense eye contact with me all the while, Stan stripped out of his grubby white shirt and jeans, and changed into the tux, wincing as he tried to snap the suit jacket shut but otherwise finding that it fit him well. “Jesus, Indigo, how tiny is your torso? My shoulders barely fit in this thing, and they’re not that broad.”

“Just try not to flex too much.” I said, unable to stop eyeing him. The suit was a great fit, snug in a few pleasant places. “See? You look great, go get a look at yourself.” I said, turning him towards the full length mirror I had in my room.

Stan rolled his eyes and pivoted to look at himself in the mirror, standing eerily still as he gazed at his reflection. There was disbelief in his eyes as he brushed hair out of his face and behind his ear. “...I look like my dad.” He grumbled. One hand clenched into a fist. “He always wore a suit, yellow, plaid--”

“Stop right the fuck there.” I said. “Do _not_ compare that tasteful scarlet number to _anything_ that has to do with _yellow plaid._ Disgusting. You look like a gentleman. Dashing. Like your own man.” I said, pointing at his chest.

“...Well I guess it’s not exactly something a salesman would wear.” Stan begrudgingly replied.

“Precisely. Stan, you look… Wonderful. Wash your hair, tie it back, add a little cologne, maybe borrow one of my watches, and you're a high profile man looking to get his kicks in Las Vegas.” I said.

“I mean… I’ve worn suits before but I haven’t worn anything like this since prom--” Stan stopped short. “You really think I look nice?”

“I do. I’ll have to step up my game a little.” I chuckled, trying to make Stan feel as good as he looked, before stopping short. _Fuck. Fuck, I just called him ‘wonderful’. Fuck, Christ, no he can’t find out I like him he’ll just think I’m using him._ “Uh… hey, mind giving a guy some privacy so I can get ready?”

“Oh, I get it, it’s like some people don’t like being watched when they strip.” Stan said, glaring at me.

“That was _one time_! Well… twice, if you include a few minutes ago, but you didn’t tell me to leave!” I said. “...Do you honestly _want_ to watch me strip? I’d think you’ve seen enough of me naked already.”

“I don’t think I could afford you.” He said, simply, leaving me to my devices.

I closed the door behind him, leaning up against it for a moment.

“...Not like I would have charged you if you’d stayed…” I muttered.

I tried to push Stan out of my thoughts while I dressed, choosing a black suit to compliment Stan’s red one. I picked out cufflinks for myself shaped like spades, and some diamond shaped ones for Stan. I couldn’t help myself. We were going to a place called The Heart’s Suit, and all the prostitutes and strippers identify themselves by carrying around playing cards, I would _never_ get another opportunity like this. After fixing my hair and properly accessorizing, I brought the diamond-shaped cufflinks and a pair of shoes out to Stan in the living room, tossing both to him.

“Put these on.”

Stan caught the cufflinks and dodged the shoes. “Holy shit, are these real gold?” He bit down on one of the cufflinks. “They are! You’re not getting these back.”

“We’ll see about that.” I said, laughing as Stan excitedly fastened on the cufflinks. “You almost ready? We’ll park a few blocks away just in case, we’ll be able to run if we need to call for backup.”

“Wait.” Stan said, grabbing my hand. “ _Wait._ ”

_Oh god._

“Are these-- spade shaped cufflinks? And you gave me the diamonds?” Stan asked, grinning like an idiot.

“Oh, what a coincidence.” I said, not very convincingly.

“Indigo, do you know what this means?” Stan asked. “We really make a great _pair_!”

I cracked a smile, unable to hold back my laughter. “I couldn't help myself!”

“You're a man after my own heart, Indigo. That's for damn sure.” Stan said.

_If only you knew._

The Heart’s Suit was only twenty minutes outside of town, in the middle of nowhere. Perfect place for a crime if it wasn’t for the fact that the murders occurred on the opposite end of the city near Gass Peak. I parked the car a couple blocks away from the club, not wanting to attract much attention.

“Okay, so, how difficult will it be to get the boss alone for a chat?” I asked.

“I dunno, never been able to afford a fancy place like this.” Stan said, brushing a stray hair out of his face.

“Stan it's a brothel--”

“An _expensive_ brothel. Look, the boss might make an appearance since she's shorthanded two people tonight. Or, if she is the killer, then she probably high tailed it by now.” Stan said.

“Do you know her name? How are we supposed to ask for her?” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Are we even sure that the two victims from last night worked _here_?”

“Okay, first of all, no one knows her real name, cause, you know, everyone in that brothel uses fake names? Second, I can sweet talk whoever I need to if it means getting you to see this person. And thirdly, this is the only playing-card-themed-brothel in Vegas that has all its employees carry around cards.” Stan said.

If anyone knew their way around these things, it would be Stan Pines. “Fine, I trust you. You try and get me to the boss, and get information out of everyone and anyone you can, I’ll question some ‘employees’ in the meantime.” I said. “And if you smell trouble, give me a heads up if you can, but _run_. If you can't find me don't waste time trying to look for me, just get out of there, take my car if you have to, get to the police station and get back up.” I said. “Your safety is more important to this case than mine is.” _I can handle myself, but I'm not losing you to this guy._

“Fuck that, if there’s trouble, I’m getting you out with me. Nobody else is going to do what you’ve done for me, for Laura.” Stan said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “And as for the case… I might have had to blackmail you into it, but you're still the only one who didn't immediately kick me out.”

My heart sank, guilt rising up in my chest once again. “I’ll get out. I’m not getting myself killed in this place. Let's get that thought out of our heads and get this show on the road, okay?” I said, pausing to help Stan tie his hair back. “And maybe let’s get the fake names situation straightened out before we go in this time.”

Stan averted his eyes, not stopping me from tying back his hair. “Uh… Do you still want to go with the nerdy book theme? Twenty-thousand Leagues?”

“To be honest with you… That’s my favorite book but people would pick up on it pretty quick.” I said. “You seem to be pretty good at picking fake names. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

“Your name is Char Treuse, you’re a travelling businessman and pun enthusiast.” Stan said, stroking his chin. “I’m Hal Forester, conservation activist looking for donations in the form of large sums of cash.”

I snickered, shaking my head. “Wow. That works, I suppose. You’re pretty quick.”

“I have to be, sometimes.” Stan said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I stepped out of the car, adjusting my coat as I stood, and locked it one Stan was out. With that, we were off.

The entrance was lined with velvet rope, and guarded by a large man dressed all in black, a typical doorman at a joint like this. Stan and I sauntered up to the door with confidence... Until I realized that I wasn’t certain how to get into a brothel, much less one of high caliber. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck what do we do? Fuck we should have planned this out more--_

“State your business.” The bouncer said. He was a tower of a man, taller than the door he was guarding. _Fuck we’re going to have to blow our cover to get in fuck._

“We’re… here to see Queen?” Stan said, only a hint of a question in his voice. _Who the fuck is queen what the fuck are you asking?_

After only a moment of looking us over the doorman stepped aside, opening the door with no hesitation. “Of course, welcome.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to let it show. “How did you know that would work?” I whispered.

“Card themed brothel, lady boss, there’s gotta be a Queen, right?” Stan said. “Now we just gotta ask around until we find her.”

“Wow, Stan… That was impressive.” I said, smiling. “Now we just have to stick to the plan.”

A dark hall led to a rather large foyer, surrounded with doors, and a beautiful second floor balcony. The walls were paneled with dark cherry wood, meeting a lush red carpet on the floor. They foyer was decked out with red leather armchairs and loveseats, and a steady thrum of disco music filtered through the building.

“Wow… It’s even fancier on the inside.” Stan said, in awe.

A few clients of high stature lingered on the furniture, a few of them with scantily clad ladies _and_ men on their arms. “And it looks fairly busy.” I said. “Is this… normal? Is this a normal thing for brothels, or just this one specifically?”

“I mean… usually these places look kind of sketchy, the employees don’t look as… happy? Well-off? This place is like a brothel version of Versailles.”

“Damn. How do these places work?”

“Well, there’s usually someone running the floor, greetin’ people, having them pick out who they want and what they wanna do, and they just… do it? It seems people around here think they need to court the person they’re paying to bang first.” Stan said. “But I don’t see anyone doing that here for some reason.”

At the end of the room, two grand double doors opened, and a tall, full figured woman with deep, dark skin and darker, lightly curled hair strutted into the room. “Gentleman, welcome to The Heart’s Suit. So sorry to keep you waiting.” She said, in a deep voice. As she approached us, her gown delicately trailed behind her, floor length and form fitting, drenched in gold from her tiara to her pumps. I had never seen anyone with as much grace and style before I met her. “You may call me Queen.”

Stan stood stock still, his mouth agape for a split second, before snapping out of it.

“Don’t worry, honey, I don’t bite.” Queen said, extending her hand. “Unless you ask me to.”

I cleared my throat. “Ma’am… My name is Char Treuse and this is Hal Forester. We actually have a few questions for you.”

“Aww, first time at an establishment like this, boys? You both look a little more well-traveled than that.” Queen said, giving us a warm, wide smile.

“If you prefer, we could discuss this somewhere more private.” I said. “But this is a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Is that so? Well, I’ll give you ten minutes. Two of my staff members didn’t show up this evening, and I have to monitor the floor tonight.” Queen said, leading us to one of the many rooms lining the walls, likely used for The Heart’s Suit’s more… explicit activities.

“Yeah… about that… Did they happen to be a man and a woman?” Stan asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yes? Do you know them? Are you clients?” Queen asked, growing suspicious.

“Uh, yes. When was the last time you saw them?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“Two nights ago, at the end of their shift. They both had yesterday off, and they were supposed to be here at six this evening. What’s going on, where are they?” Queen asked, her entire demeanor changing to something more intimidating. It was clear that she was either the killer we were looking for or that she thought _we_ were a threat to her business. Either way, I had to de-escalate the situation quickly or Stan and I would both be in trouble.

“Ma’am… we believe they were found dead yesterday morning.” I said, carefully. “What do your missing employees look like, do you remember what they were wearing?”

Queen gasped, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. “Th-they… Brandy was wearing a red dress, I had it made just for her… It was short, only came down six inches above the knee, but it had pockets. Decently sized pockets. She would have had my card on her! The queen of hearts playing card, in her pocket.” She said.

“...That sound like her?” Stan whispered. I nodded slowly.

“There was a man there as well, can you tell me anything about him?” I asked.

Queen slumped down in a chair, gripping the armrests. “He had on these cute, tight bell bottoms, and a silk shirt, he barely buttoned it. He would have had the king of hearts playing card.”

I knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Killer or not, she deserved that small comfort, at least. “...Ma’am, if you could give us their real names, so we can alert their families, have them come identify the bodies. And answer just a few more questions.”

“W-who even are you? How do you know all of this, how can I trust you with their personal information? I don’t want their occupation to be held against them… They we’re both wonderful people… they were like family.”

I slowly took out my wallet, showing Queen my ID and my badge. “My name is Detective Indigo Vasquez, and this is Stanley Pines. We’re trying to bring whoever did this to justice.”

As I pulled out my badge, Queen began to sob, covering her face, trying to hide it. “His name was Eddie Francisco, hers was Lory Dodds. They-- They didn’t deserve this.” She paused, wiping tears from her eyes. “Give me ten minutes to shut this place down.” She said between sobs. “No one will get in or out until you have the evidence you need.”

“Take all the time you need, please. We’ll wait.” Stan said, offering his hand to help Queen out of her chair.

“We’ll also be keeping an eye on the doors in case anyone tries to make a run for it.” I added. “And, Stan, I’ll need to call for backup, get more hands on this case.” I said. _So please, keep out of the way as much as possible, if someone recognizes you and makes an arrest we’re **both** in trouble._

Queen stood up, gripping Stan’s hand tightly. “This won’t take long, I’ll be right back. I can show you to a telephone, I’d imagine walking back to your car to radio the police won’t be an option?”

“Not the best option, no. Where is this telephone?” I asked.

Queen ran her fingers through her hair, fixing a few flyaways as she did so. “Right this way, it’s near the front desk.”

Stan cleared his throat. “Don’t you think we should shut the place down _before_ we call anyone? Make everything look… legal?”

“Stan if there’s a killer here we want to be able to find them.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“No I meant… Indigo you seriously can’t be thinking about arresting every prostitute here, are you?” Stan sounded a little hurt.

“What? No, I…” I said, surprising even myself. “No. But we’ve got to be careful about this, make sure a potential serial killer doesn’t get away.” _No, no, Stan, you said it yourself, The Heart’s Suit is the best option that some people have. This place is out of the way, it’s not doing much harm, arresting everyone involved and shutting it down wouldn’t do anything but hurt people._

Stan gave me a soft hint of a smile. “Leave that to me, everything will be legal by the time the pig-- cops get here. Only strippers and showgirls, nothing gay or illegal. Except the killer.”

“Thank you, both of you.” Queen said with a sigh. “I’ll take you two to the phone. Stan, I trust you’ll handle this delicately?”

“Yes ma’am.” Stan said. “Trust me, I’m practically an expert at this stuff.”

“You’re banned in twenty-five states.” I deadpanned.

“But I’ve only been to jail in seven, plus Mexico and Colombia. And there’s a _lot_ of stuff I haven’t gotten caught for.” Stan said, grinning.

“...I trust him.” Queen said, slowly.

_I don’t trust you, your majesty._ “Then if you’ll lead the way, ma’am?” I said, gesturing towards the door. 

Queen led me out of the room and paused in the middle of the foyer, her voice booming “Everyone! The police are coming shortly, you know the drill! Clean your act up. No one gets in or out until I give the okay.”

Almost immediately, anyone who didn’t at the very least _look_ like they were straight scrambled. A change of clothes (including hotel uniforms of all things) was given to anyone in drag, condoms were handed off to Stan, who stuffed them all in an old storage closet and hid the door behind a decorative bookcase. Stripper poles were taken down from a stage area just beyond the foyer where we came in, and hidden in what used to be an orchestra pit. Stan and I kept an eye on any exits we could find, just in case someone tried to run for it. As far as I could tell, nobody seemed tempted to run away, instead opting to wait things out.

After I made my call to the station, I confronted Queen. “Do you happen to have security cameras installed here?” I asked.

“Yes, I assume you’ll want to see the footage? We don’t have them installed in the private rooms, of course, but every entrance is taped, as well as any room where money is exchanged or stored.” Queen said.

“Yes. I would like to see the victims leaving the establishment, and it will secure alibis for other workers, including yourself.” I said, firmly.

“You’re seriously considering me as a suspect? They were like family to me, I would never harm them!”

“I've heard those words from many killers before. Show me some evidence and I’ll change my mind.” I said. _I'm not risking Stanley's safety in this, I'm not risking the city's safely in this. She's suspicious until proven otherwise._

“I suppose I understand. I’m insulted, but I understand.” Queen huffed. “Follow me.” She said, storming towards a room, leading me into her office. “The tapes are all in this room. You need the ones from two days ago, I'm assuming?”

“Yes, I’ll need a few hours before the end of their shift, and a few hours after.” I said, pulling out a chair for each of us.

Queen pulled out tapes from a drawer, all of them clearly labeled. “These should be the ones.” She said, popping the first tape into a VHS player. “There's a time stamp on the footage as well, in case you get even more suspicious.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. Queen fast-forwarded the footage to the time I requested, before letting the footage play.

The timestamp labeled the footage at one AM, a few hours before the estimated time of death. The fuzzy picture showed Lory Dodds and Eddie Francisco at the front desk, talking with Queen, presumably about work matters. A few customers and clients walked through the doors here and there, but nothing of note happened until three, when Dodds and Francisco left the building.

Queen stood at the door, giving both Dodds and Francisco a hug before allowing them to leave. I glanced over in Queen’s direction, tears had returned to her eyes. Killer or not, there’s no denying that she really did care for them. The footage stayed at the front desk until five, with Queen having taken over in Dodds and Francisco’s place. Queen’s alibi was secured. This case just got a hell of a lot harder.

“Is there any footage covering the exits?” I asked. “Anyone who was acting strangely last night, anyone who might have wanted Dodds and Francisco gone? Any particularly violent or disturbing clients?”

“We have really good clients, very sweet people, and those two were everyone’s favorites, they were good at their jobs. It is very hard to get into my establishment, I only have the best clientele and employees. This is a complete shock to me…” Queen paused. “There’s footage on the exit out back, where my employees come and go. Here, let me get the tape.”

Three squad cars arrived not more than ten minutes after that, with a patty wagon in tow. Instantly, I felt the mood of the room change, the crowd going from uneasy to terrified at the presence of a few more officers. The tension was enough to make me feel uneasy as well.

Sergeant Vance Terell, my boss, picked me out of the crowd with ease.

“Indigo Vaskes, you’ve caused quite a stir.” He said, sauntering up to me, removing his hat.

“It’s, uh, Vasquez.” I said. “And thank you for coming, essentially everyone in this hotel is a potential suspect. I've ruled out the owner, and ten employees. However the owner is a key witness in this case.”

“Hm.” Terell grunted. “Look, Vascues, we’ve all suspected it for a time. Is this place a gay brothel? I’d hate to have brought the patty wagon for nothing.”

_Shit_. “I-I’m afraid to disappoint, but I’ve ruled that out as well. It’s a very sleazy motel, where the victims would take their, er, clients, but they don’t operate from here. The place seems very… don’t ask, don’t tell about it. The owner about fainted when they heard.” I said.

My boss, thankfully, believed my bullshit.

“Alright, Vascues, get your witnesses to a safe house for the night. With any luck we’ll have some new evidence, but for now, our only leads are in your hands. I expect some progress made on this case within the week.”

“Yessir.” I said, before darting off to find Stan and Queen. Eventually, I found them hiding out in a spare room, the same one Queen had led us to when we first entered the building. Stan was pacing around the room, while Queen had taken a seat.

“Indigo! What’s the word, what’s happening out there?” Stan asked, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“Everything is under control. They’re going to interrogate anyone they think was involved, but as far as they know, it’s just a seedy motel--”

“This is a beautiful oasis in a harsh, unforgiving desert, and you called my place of business a motel?” Queen was astonished.

“Hey whatever gets the cops off your backs…” Stan shrugged. “So, uh, what’s the plan now? I don’t know about you, but I kinda don’t want to spend any more time in a building with a potential serial killer any longer than I have to…”

“The plan is to take you two back to my apartment for the night. Queen, we can work out a plan for this when we get there, alright?”

“No, I can’t. I have a dog at home, I have to take care of her, and I would have to pack a bag… Why don’t you two stay with me? I have two bedrooms.” Queen said.

“Well… I suppose that would work. It would definitely mix up our routine a little bit.” I said. “Where do you live? I can give you a ride, or I can follow you in your car.”

“Why don’t you follow me?” Queen said. “It’s a little house out in the middle of nowhere, if I tried giving you directions you’d just get lost.”

“Great! That sounds like a plan if I ever heard one let’s leave!” Stan said, his grin too wide, trying to hide the slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“It’s going to be alright, dear.” Queen said, taking Stan’s hand and leading him out towards the exit.

Queen lived in a small house out in the Mojave, only a single story high, but modern enough to be pleasing to the eye. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was in the middle of nowhere, the nearest major road was about three miles away and the nearest streetlight was even farther out. I was thankful my car survived on the dirt roads.

“So, uh, where’s this dog you’re supposed to feed?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow at the two-- no, wait, three ‘beware of dog’ signs in Queen’s yard.

“Hold on a second, let me get inside and calm her down. She gets antsy around strangers. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” Queen said.

“Whatever kind of dog it is, I’m sure between the two of us we’ve dealt with worse.” I said, trying to reassure Stan.

Queen unlocked the door and slipped inside quickly, a persistent yapping sounding from the inside.

“It sounds like a Chihuahua, maybe a Dachshund.” I said.

“Yeah, well, they all have teeth and they all seem to hate me.” Stan huffed.

“Okay, come in!” Queen called from behind the door.

“If I die here, I'm blaming you.” Stan said, entering the house first despite his fear.

Stan and I were met with a high pitched growl coming from the extremely small Pomeranian in Queen's arms.

“Madame Guillotine! Stop that, these are our guests!” Queen said, shifting the dog’s weight in her arms, trying to get better hold on her.

“Madame Guillotine?” I asked. “You named your dog after a classical literature reference?” I tried to stop myself from smiling.

“Yes, it seemed very fitting for her, but we call her Madame for short.” Queen said, petting the ball of fluff in an attempt to calm her. The dog seemed to settle after that, though she kept making a soft growling sound.

“Ugh, dogs are bad enough but nerd dogs are even worse.” Stan said, backing away.

“Are we hungry, Madame?” Queen asked, setting the small dog down in front a silver dish on the floor. “Don’t worry, Stanley, she’ll sleep in my room tonight. I’ll make sure to put you on the opposite end of the house.”

“Uh… thanks.” Stan said, quietly, looking around the house, taking in the sights. “Nice place ya got… It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a house…” He paused. “This nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a house this nice.”

“Well you can make yourselves at home.” She said, filling up Madame's bowl with food. “So what's your story, you two? How long have you been a thing?”

“Huh? Wh- we’re not a thing.” I blurted.

“Yeah, he’s just a client of mine gone wrong.” Stan crossed his arms, refusing to look at me.

“Is that so?” Queen said, a hand on her hip. “Stan, do you have clothes to wear this evening? I think I might have something for you in my closet. Follow me, let's have a chat. Indigo, feel free to make yourself at home.”

Madame and I were left alone in the living room, while Queen took Stan by the hand and led him to her room.

“So, what’s your story, Stanley?” Queen’s voice filtered through the walls. Funny, they seem like they’d be able to absorb more sound than that… Or maybe I’m just picking up on it easier ‘cause I’m used to Las Vegas traffic just outside my apartment. I spared Madame a quick glance, before sneaking just a little bit closer to Queen’s room, trying to hear a little better. Madame followed me, keeping a close eye on me.

“Why do you wanna know?” Stan's gruff voice echoed. “I just… I’m just down on my luck, tryin’ to make it, okay?”

“Listen, you seem to me like a kid who needs to catch a break, and you seem to know what you're doing in our line of work… How would you like to come work for me? I'll take 40 percent of your earnings, but that will go towards rent. You'll get as many clients as you want, who will pay on your terms. I think you would like it, Stan. And if not, far be it from me to judge, we could find something else for you, or I could help you land another job.”

“Are… Are you serious? I thought that I wasn’t-- I mean, cut out for it…”

“Well, I think you _are._ ” Queen said. “And I’m not sure what made you think otherwise.”

Stan was silent.

“You don't have to answer me right away, of course. Let me convince you?” Her voice paused. “You would look so stunning in this, why don't you try it on?”

“I-I’m not sure… I couldn't.”

“I know there's a man out there you want to impress, and nobody could resist you in this, could they?”

“I-- I'm not…”

“Just try it on, I'll do your face. It'll be fun!”

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll look like a real joke.”

“Don't say that, Stan. You are one good looking man, and you've got the face and the legs for drag. We both know you make more clients in a dress, don't you?”

“The thing is… I never started wearin’ dresses to get more clients… I just… wanted the job to look a little nicer, I guess. But… I won’t look as good as you do in that. And I won’t look like any of your employees, either...”

“Well, I have an idea. That man out there, he hasn't been able to take his eyes off you all night. You put this on, he's putty in your hands. When's the last time you went out with a guy just for the fun of it? Put this on, go out, have some fun, and think about my offer, alright? Go show your man what you're capable of.”

Wait… wait is she… are they talking about me?

“I… I don’t know what to say… I don’t think I’m what most guys are lookin’ for. It would never work.”

“I think he wants to try, at least. You might not be able to see it, but he looks at you the same way you look at him. At the very least, know this, Stanley: you’re a wonderful young man, and anyone would be lucky to have you on their staff or as their partner. Now, let me give you a makeover!”

My heart was practically beating out of my chest. They couldn’t be talking about me… it had to be someone else. There wasn’t… any conceivable way this could work between us, even if he had a clean record and even if I wasn’t a detective, we were still two men in Vegas and… I _did_ want to make it work. If Stanley had asked me for my heart, it would be his in a second. If he had asked me for anything I would give it to him. The problem was, I’d never expected him to return even an ounce of my feelings for him. I’d thought… he viewed me as another client, maybe a colleague at best, but never in a million years would I have guessed he viewed me in a romantic context. I wasn't that lucky.

A tiny yap sounded at my feet, as Madame Guillotine sniffed my leg, standing up and resting her paws on my knee, wagging her tail all the while.

I slowly sat down on the floor, trying not to startle the dog. Almost immediately, she curled up in my lap. “Huh, guess Stan was wrong about you after all.” I tried to pet her, but a soft growl warned me that this was as much as I was going to get. “It was worth a shot, at least.”

“You know, it's funny… a few hours ago I thought you'd never give a job offer to a guy like me.” Stan’s voice filtered through the walls.

“And what made you think that?” Queen asked.

“I-- I dunno, maybe it was just your other employees, they're all a little younger than me, look like they just got out of college while I'm pushing thirty. Maybe I just thought, hey, I'm always destined to fail anyways, so why bother trying?”

“Well, if you talk like that, you are destined to fail. You write your own destiny, Stan. Just look at me. I once thought I was ‘destined’ to fail, but I realized that I could do everything in my power to become who I wanted to be, who I am.”

“And look at you, you're gorgeous, and--” Stan paused. “Wow… you weren't kidding, this fits… perfectly.”

“See? And that’s all yours whether you take my offer or not. Too small for me.”

“... I'm sorry about Lory and Eddie. I don't think I can replace them, I'm not sure I want to, but… I'll think about it, okay?”

“Great! Are you going to let me play with your makeup?”

“Uh, I mean… if you really want to? But I do my own eye stuff.”

“Fine, fine!”

I leaned back, using my hand to steady myself. Was there really anything stopping us from going on one measly little date? Was there anything stopping us from, perhaps, turning one date into something more? Queen was right, we deserved a break, a moment to focus on something that wasn’t the case, to focus on what we were fighting for, to… to relax. I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves and trying to look calm and collected before Stan inevitably walked out of the room.

I didn’t have much luck.

Stan stepping out of that room was like watching a Michelangelo sculpture coming to life. If Michelangelo had sculpted a white male Donna Summer. He wore a stunning burgundy dress that came down just past his knee. The neckline reached all the way down to his waist. His chest hair had been recently shaved, but I could make out a few he’d missed. His skin glistened with glitter, his eyelashes fluttered, his eyelids were blue butterflies, sparkling and shimmering like a disco ball.

I immediately stood up, brushing dog hair from my trousers and trying to make myself presentable again. “ _Wow_. Y-You look stunning-- er, _stylish_.” I stammered, my face flushing redder than Stan’s dress.

Stan grinned, genuinely grinned, and twirled in his dress, the fabric swirling in a soft circle. “You, uh, really think so?”

“Yes.” I said, gathering up the courage to compliment him without hesitating. “S-so what are you all dolled up for?”

“Uh, well… apparently, there’s a gay bar in town… Not a brothel or anything like The Heart’s Suit, just… a bar. Called the Eye of Providence. I was, er… wondering if you wanted to go wi--”

“Yes.” I said, almost a little too quickly. “I'd be honored.”

“Wait… really?”

“Yes. I… I want to do something nice with you, we could both use a break. Queen’s not a target for anyone but the police right now and they don’t have a warrant, and I’m not letting anything happen to _you_ while we’re out. Is there… Dancing at this bar? I haven't been out dancing in a while.” I said, scratching the back of my head. _Oh god this is really happening, I am **so fucking glad I wore a suit today.**_

“Uh, yeah, I think so. It’s a disco place.”

“Perfect.” I paused, perhaps a little too long, and offered out my arm to Stan. “Shall we?”

Stan stared at my arm for a moment, before smiling and hooking his arm with mine, taking my hand. “Let’s go, Queen gave me directions, I can drive us.”

My heart was practically beating out of my chest. “A-Alright. Do you want to drive your car? We can go pick it up.”

“...You do realize that I have been _living_ out of that thing for the better part of ten years… right? Not the best thing to go with your suit.” Stan’s face fell.

“I don't mind, whatever you feel is best.” I said. “It can’t be that bad.”

“...Let’s just take your car instead, okay?” Stan fidgeted with his dress.

I gave him a warm, reassuring smile, and tossed him my keys. “Alright, whatever you want.” I tossed him my keys. “I trust you.”

“Th-thanks… Thank you.” Stan said.

For the first time, I climbed in the passenger seat of my car, allowing Stan to drive.

The Eye of Providence was a small nightclub on the edge of the city, situated between an antique shop of all things, and a casino. The inside was brightly lit, with all colors of the rainbow shining on an electric dance floor. All of the patrons were equally colorful, people of all different creeds and walks of life dancing and drinking, looking happy and… Well, _gay._ Off to one side was a long bar, serving up drinks like a storm. On the other side were a few small tables to take a rest, get something to eat. It was a small, gay oasis in the middle of the Mojave, and I’d never felt more at home.

“Come on,” Stan said, smiling wide and brushing a stray hair from his face. “Let’s go dancing!” He took my hand and dragged me to the middle of the dance floor, a faced paced disco number filling the air. Without a drink in my system, my moves were a little stiff, not quite comfortable enough to let loose just yet. Stan, however, seemed to be faring a little better. His hips swayed perfectly to the beat, the dress he was wearing perfectly accentuating his body. With Stan around, I didn’t feel particularly self-conscious, something about his smile made the whole room relax. I pulled him in by the waist as a salsa song began, leading him in a spontaneous attempt at passion, and he matched me step for step. His soul was perfectly in time with my own. Taking the lead, I spun Stan around, making the dress flutter and Stan let out a hearty laugh.

“You’re a great dancer!” I said, trying to speak over the music.

“What can I say?” Stan said, shrugging. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Do you wanna grab a drink?” I asked, holding Stan’s hand and pulling him away from the dance floor. “I think I need to loosen up a bit.”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t… um… I think I left my wallet back at Queen’s place. So I guess you can count me out on that…” Stan said, fidgeting with his hair.

“It’s on me, okay? Whatever you want, it’s on me tonight.” I said, smiling softly. “So, what’s your poison?”

“What? No, I can’t accept that.” Stan said, before knitting his brow, contemplating something. “Ah… er… well, I think just one beer can’t hurt, right?”

“If that’s what you want, a beer it is.” I said, not taking no for an answer. For once, I wanted to spend money on Stan for _his_ enjoyment. I gave Stan’s hand a squeeze, and led him over to the bar.

I had to elbow a few people to get to the bar, and whistle loudly to get the bartender’s attention. “Two light beers, whatever you’ve got, please!” I said.

“Thanks, Indigo.” Stan said, so quietly it was almost lost to the music.

I placed a few bills down on the bar in exchange for the drinks, and handed a cold bottle to Stan. “Anytime. This… this is actually a pretty nice night, all things considered.”

“Yeah… You’re right. This is nice.” Stan said, taking a long swig of the beer. “I’m going to find the bathroom, freshen up, would you wait here a second?”

“Go ahead. I might find a table, though, this bar is getting a little crowded.” I said, smiling.

I watched as Stan slowly made his way to the other end of the bar, towards the bathrooms, and leaned forwards in my seat. It couldn’t be that long of a wait, right?

Two songs passed without any sign of Stanley. By the time the fourth song had come around, I’d moved to a table in the corner of the bar, in plain view of the bathrooms, telling myself that he was either lost or sick. He hadn’t… he hadn’t decided that being here with me was awful and decided to just ditch while he still could. That definitely wasn’t it, and the thought never crossed my mind.

After song six began, I decided to get up and check on Stan. _Sick, definitely sick. Sick or gone. Well... no, he cares too much about the case for that. You didn’t get ditched on your first date._ I took a deep breath, hoping to just find that Stan simply wasn’t feeling well but preparing myself for an alternative, even if I was _completely certain_ that Stan hadn’t left.

What I found inside wasn’t… exactly what I’d been expecting.

A tall, lanky man with blue, spiked hair had Stan cornered against the bathroom wall. His leather vest was open, I couldn’t see what was inside but I wouldn’t be a very good detective if I said he was offering Stan anything other than drugs.

“You know you want a line, sweetheart, I can see you sweatin’ just thinking about it. I’m willing to barter.” He said, trying to sweet talk Stan. _Fat load that’s gonna do,_ I thought, relaxing against the door. _Stan’s a con man, kid. You’re not going to get anything out of him._ I thought, until I caught a glimpse of Stanley

He shook, his hands clutching the hem of his dress. He looked at the contents of the young man’s vest like a starving man would look at a hot meal. Ah, no, bad choice of words given Stan’s living situation… He looked at the contents of the young man’s vest with wide eyes, clearly interested. _Okay well maybe addiction’s a hard thing to beat…_ I couldn’t stand to see Stan suffer like this, backed into a corner, no way out.

“Hey, kid, get away from him, he said _no_.” I spoke up, trying to intimidate someone a good six inches taller than me without a badge to back me up.

“Oh look, there’s my date.” Stan said, sending a halfhearted glare towards the dealer and walking towards me.

“Look, I’m just trying to scrape out a living, alright?” The dealer shot back.

“...I know.” Stan said. “So am I…” He added, the words so soft I barely caught them. They likely weren’t intended for me to hear in the first place.

I held out my hand for Stan to take, assuring him that it was okay, he was safe with me. “Let’s get back out there, huh?”

Stan didn’t take it.

He didn’t even meet my eye.

He trained his eyes to the ground, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly escaped the restroom. I didn’t hesitate to follow him, and motioned him over to the table I’d picked out for us.

I crawled into the booth with Stan and gently took his hand, pleading with my eyes for him to look at me. “Stan, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“What? No, if that scrawny punk had hurt me we’d have had to call an ambulance for ‘im.” Stan huffed.

“Do you want another beer, some water? We could go out and dance again, forget about that guy. We can still have a nice time together.” I said.

“...I’m not really up for dancing right now. Did you, uh, keep the beer from earlier?” Stan asked. He still wasn’t looking at me, but he hadn’t retracted his hand, so I considered it progress.

“Yes, I did. It’s a little warm, but it’s still here.” I said, gently sliding the bottle across the table to him. “...You know I’m not upset with you, right? That guy was a total asshole, I’m sorry he did that to you…”

“What? No, it’s not that, he was just… _I_ was just… It’s just an expensive habit. Shit on your health, too, and I can’t afford insurance. Decided to kick it, a little bit before I met Laura. You know, Colombian prison makes you want to never look at cocaine ever again?” Stan gave a soft chuckle.

“I don’t doubt it… That’s a hard habit to kick, too. You’re very strong, Stan.” I said, leaning closer to him, wrapping my free hand around his shoulder. “I admire that about you.”

Stan turned to look at me, something in his eyes I couldn’t quite place. Disbelief? Happiness? Whatever it was, he leaned into my arm, wrapping his own around my waist.

I smiled softly, squeezing his hand. “Strong in more than one way. You really pack a punch, you know? I used to box, and being on the force taught me how to fight. I thought I was good, but I think you brought me back down to earth.” I laughed, changing the subject in order to get a smile out of Stan.

“Heh, you know, I boxed back in high school. It was the only thing I was ever any good at.” He said, a beautiful, soft smile on his face.

“Oh yeah? You must have been the best around! But you’re good at other things too, Stan. You’re a good dancer, you’re quick witted, and really clever.” I said, pulling him close.

Stan let out a laugh. “I’m not that smart.”

“You managed to fake your identity for how long? You _escaped a maximum security Colombian prison._ That takes more than average intelligence.” I said.

“Have you ever _been_ in a Colombian prison? It’s not exactly the guards you have to watch out for. Besides, I didn’t orchestrate anything. I conned a buddy of mine into helping me back to the States.”

“You are a smart man, Stan Pines.”

“ _You’re_ not then. I’m just a good fuck.” He said, pulling away and refusing to look at me again.

“Says who?” I scoffed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stan, you’re a person, you have flaws, sure, but there are so many good things about you. I’ve only known you for a week, and I can see the good in you… I don’t know who’s made you feel this way, but they’re wrong.”

Stan turned to face me, a glimmer of tears in his eyes reflecting the lights from the dance floor, and pulled me into a kiss by my shirt collar. It felt a little strange, our first kiss coming after our first time in bed, but it made the endeavor feel ten times as intimate.

I reached up to wrap my arms around him, to brush his hair away from our faces.

I caught a trail of a tear on Stan’s face.

Why did that hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced?

I stayed attached to him as long as I could, before I had to take a deep breath. I kept my forehead pressed against his and whispered. “Do you want to leave… do this somewhere more private?”

Stan sighed, gripping the fabric of my suit between his fingers. “...I don’t know. I kinda wanna get out of here… But I don’t feel like havin’ s--”

“We don’t have to. Would you be okay with another kiss?”

“...This is a lousy date.” He mumbled, before giving me a quick peck on the lips.

I frowned, despite the kiss, and slid out of the booth with Stan. “It doesn’t have to be over yet. We can just… change location.”

“I’m sorry I screwed up… Let’s just go somewhere else. Where do you wanna go?” Stan’s voice was quiet, wavering. His breathing was picking up but he was trying not to let it show.

“You didn’t screw up, Stan. It’s okay.” I said, holding Stan’s hand tight. “Why don’t we just go back to Queen’s place and relax?”

“...This was supposed to be _nice_ why can’t something just be _nice_?” He muttered under his breath, not intending for me to hear. “Just… yeah, let’s go back to Queen’s place.” He said.

I drove the two of us back to Queen’s little house, holding Stan’s hand the whole ride back. Stan sat low in the passenger seat, staring out the window but keeping his trembling hand in mine as tightly as he could.

Queen left her door unlocked for us, and we were greeted with a soft yap from a few rooms away. The house was silent, and there was a faint sound from the end of the house, a stifled sob.

“Jesus, these walls are thin…” I said, softly.

“Oh god, these walls are _thin_.” Stan nervously glanced towards me, before shaking his head and heading straight for Queen’s room, pulling me behind him.

Stan knocked gently at Queen’s bedroom door. “Queen? We’re back, are you okay?”

“ _Yes_.” Queen’s voice filtered through the walls. Then came a sniffle. “ _...No._ ”

“Can we come in?” I asked, slowly.

“ _Yes…_ ” There was a pause while Queen went to open her bedroom door. “Yes… I’m sorry I’m such a bad host.” She said, standing in the open doorway in a pale blue nightgown and a sheer robe, with long flowing sleeves and a fur trim. Her hair was gone, a wig cap in its place, and only now did her makeup begin to smear.

“No, you’re not a bad host.” Stan said, taking her hand in his. “You’ve been so gracious.”

She dabbed her eye with a tissue and sighed. “I thought I would be asleep by the time you two had gotten home, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be.” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s tough, we get it. Lory and Eddie will get justice for what happened. Laura will, too. They all will. It’s going to be okay, it’s my job to _make_ it okay.”

“Thank you, both of you… Don’t end your night early on my account, boys, I made up the bed in the spare bedroom, you can make yourselves at home, okay? It’s nice knowing that I’m not alone this evening.” She said, a sad smile on her face.

“Hey, now, if you need us to stay with you we can.” Stan said. “We’re not leavin’ you alone.”

Queen clutched her robe, averting her eyes. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Why don’t we give her a little space…” I said, quietly. “Sometimes people need space.” I paused, turning back to Queen. “If you need us, though, don’t be afraid to come get us.”

“Thank you boys. You try and have a nice night, okay? This is my way of thanking you.” Queen said, retreating behind her door. “Good night.” She said, quietly, her voice still wavering.

“...You really think that’s what she needs?” Stan asked, his hand still lingering in the air where Queen’s own had left it.

“I think she’s just trying to process everything. I've spoken with lots of people in the process of grief, everyone handles it differently. I think she kept trying to get rid of us so she could be alone.” I chuckled. “So she sent us out on a date.”

Stan’s face fell, but he didn’t say anything more on the subject. “So I guess our room is on the other end of the house?”

“Sure, let’s go take a look?” I said, reaching out for his hand again, sighing happily when he took it.

 At the end of the house, we found a door, looking similar to Queen’s bedroom. The room had been decorated with softly glowing candles and rose petals on every surface. The sheets appeared to be satin, and on a vanity, there was a bottle of champagne on ice and a plate of strawberries.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” Stan said, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah there’s no way we’re making use of the atmosphere with the, ahem, _acoustics_ in this house.” I said, a blush creeping up my face.

“We can at least pop open that champagne…” Stan grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

“If you want to, it’s fine by me.” I said, grabbing the champagne flutes Queen had set out for us and pouring two glasses, smiling at a little note Queen had left on the bottle reading ‘ _enjoy this responsibly’_.

Before I could hand Stan a glass, he had taken the bottle from me, downing about a quarter of it before coming up for air.

“Woah, whoa!” I said, yanking the bottle away. “Save a little for me too… Stan, what’s wrong?”

“I’m jus’ trying to relax.” Stan said, glaring at me for a split second before leaning against the wall. “M’not gonna be much fun sober.”

“Stan, you don’t have to do this… try and savor this with me, we’re still on our date, you know?” I pleaded, setting down the bottle and reaching out to him.

“I’m sorry, I fucked up, there’s just too much shit going on right now for me to focus.” Stan said, flinching when my hand got too close.

I retracted my hand, my heart aching. “Stan, you didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Indigo.” Stan muttered, fixing the hem of his dress.

I paused, my heart racing and my head flooded with emotion and liquor. _I’m no liar, I’ll tell you the truth._ “Stan Pines, I love you.”

Stan stopped. The whole world seemed to tilt as he moved closer to me, studying my face, before his arms were wrapped around my chest and his face was buried in the crook of my neck. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my hands gentle and hesitant to touch his skin. I pulled him as close as I could as I felt his lips brush against my neck, warm tears dripping onto my shirt.

“...I love you, too.” Stan said. “Fuck if I know how, or why… but I do.”

My hands moved to pet Stan’s hair, beautiful and soft and curling around my fingers. “Can I lay down and hold you? Standing is a little awkward...”

Stan swallowed, trying to process something, before slowly nodding, allowing me to lead him to the bed. I kicked off my shoes and slid into the bed, pulling Stan with me. Stan haphazardly kicked off his own heels and tried to get comfortable.

“...Sorry I fucked up.” He said, softly.

“You didn’t fuck up. I’m sorry _I_ fucked up.” I sighed, draping can arm over Stan’s waist. “I was so terrible to you, Stan… I don’t know if I can ever say ‘I’m sorry’ enough.”

“Truth is I’m used to it.” Stan said, scooting a little closer towards me. “Not you being horrible, just… just people, I guess.”

“You don’t deserve that.” I sighed, loosening my tie. “And you don’t deserve what life’s been throwing at you, either.”

“I must deserve somethin’, I’ve been dealing with shit like this my whole life.”

“You deserve something good.” I said, placing my hand on his chest, leaning close for a kiss. “Let me be good to you, Stan.”

Stan caught my lips in a kiss, holding me tight, like he’d fall apart if he let go. I melted into him, my hands explored his body slowly, careful not to venture too far. As soon as I tried backing away, Stan pulled me in further, refusing to end the moment. Neither of us had felt passion quite like this before.

Stan ran one hand through my hair, coming to rest at the back of my head, and pressed into me, getting as close as he possibly could. He took my other hand and guided me along his chest, showing me where he wanted me, and I gladly followed every silent instruction.

I quickly got the hang of what made Stan’s breath hitch, what made him shiver. He reached for my waist, pulling at my belt. I managed to pull away, and moved his hand to my shoulder. “Stan, are you sure you want that?”

“I-isn’t that what you want from me?” He asked, letting me guide his hand without any hesitation, just surprise.

“No! Well… well, yes, but not if you don’t!” I stammered, my face growing red. “P-plus… you know, thin walls and all that… I’m okay with this… Just being here with you.”

Stan blinked at me in disbelief, not convinced that I was happy enough without any further intimacy. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No, of course not. Stan, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this to make me feel happy.” I said.

“I don’t get you…” Stan said, pulling back to look me over. “You really don’t want me to?”

I shook my head. “I just want _you._ ” I said.

Stan seemed to accept the answer, and slowly laid down next to me, his shoulders releasing a tension I hadn’t known they held.

I readjusted, laying my head on Stan’s chest, tracing small circles on his skin. He patted my head softly, soothingly.

“I can’t believe…” Stan spoke slowly, mulling over the words between his teeth. “I’m fallin’ for a john.” His gruff voice broke the silence in the room.

“Do you regret it?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

“...I don’t know.” Stan said. “I did the first time I was stupid enough to fall for a john. But… I’ve got a nasty history with love.”

“This is a new chapter. I could take care of you, Stan. After this case is over, I can take care of you, I’ll get you off the streets. For good.”

“That’s what they all say…”

“I’m not letting you go back out there. I want you to stay with me, and not on my sofa. With _me_.” I said, running my hand through his hair.

Stan fell silent. “...You and Queen would make quite the partners in crime, you know?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

“You an’ her would be great at coning’ people. You get their hopes up too much.” Stan said, turning over, turning away from me.

“Stan, I mean what I say. I know I can’t expect you to trust me… but give me a chance to love you.” I pleaded, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That’s… that’s all I want. Just a chance.”

“Indigo, I don’t know if I can take that chance.” Stan said, shrinking in on himself. “Besides… I wouldn’t do anything for you except drag you down.”

“That’s a bold faced lie. You make me feel so happy, Stanley, I haven't enjoyed someone else’s company in a long time. I usually feel so lonely.” I said, squeezing his shoulder, slowly moving my hand to rub soothing circles into his back. “I feel like I’ve found a friend, an equal… someone I can give my time and my love to.”

“You keep sayin’ that word, you keep throwin’ it around… How do I know you mean it?” Stan asked, turning to face me.

Slowly, I reached into the pocket of my suit jacket, pulling out my badge.

“Stan, I couldn’t get through this case without you. I had forgotten how great it felt to solve a case with someone at your side… so I want you to be my honorary partner. You figure out the answers to questions I don’t understand, you keep me straight. When this is all said and done, I’m going to get your charges dropped, I want you to work with me, help clear the streets. You’ve already helped me take down a drug-lord and a sex-trafficking ring leader! Do you know how fast the crime rate is gonna drop with you here to help me?”

Stan stared at my face for a moment, studying my every move, before slowly taking the badge, a sly grin on his face. “So I keep you straight, huh? Doesn’t that kinda defeat the purpose?”

My heart soared when Stan smiled. “So… partners?” I asked, holding out my hand for a shake.

Stan took my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. “Partners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the fic! The next chapter will be up soon!  
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon!
> 
> also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXVF3--jtO8  
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


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